


42 North 71 West

by Lecrit



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Actor Magnus, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Flashbacks, Friends With Benefits, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Politician Alec, Politics, Post-Break Up, Slow Burn, With A Twist, in a fuck buddies AU?, there will be, this fic was called 'these dumb assholes in love' for a very long time, well yes apparently
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2019-11-04 21:44:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 62,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17906234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lecrit/pseuds/Lecrit
Summary: Alec sometimes wonders why he ever decided to pursue a career in politics. Magnus sometimes questions whether pursuing his dream of becoming an actor was worth it.Those two facts are not necessarily mutually exclusive.





	1. The piano

**Author's Note:**

> Hello cupcakes,
> 
> It's been a while, uh?  
> Remember when I said I was done with multichaptered fics? Clearly that was a lie.
> 
> If you choose to live-tweet this first chapter, please use the hashtag #lecrit so I can follow your reactions!
> 
> Happy reading!

 

**NEW YORK, JANUARY 2017.**

There are nights like this one when Alec wonders why he ever decided to pursue a career in politics.

When he gets home and his brain seems to be running on low battery, yearning to just collapse in his bed even though he knows too well that a good night’s sleep won’t be enough to fix his messed-up schedule. That would be fine, if only he could just fall asleep quickly, but being at the beginning of a campaign also means that his mind never shuts up about what he needs to do and where he needs to go and what he needs to write.

Stretching his neck in a vain attempt at eliminating the tension in his muscles, he drags himself to the kitchen and opens the fridge, heaving out a relieved sigh when he sees the lasagna waiting for him there. There is one undeniable perk in having his mother live just a block away and it has to be the food he randomly finds in his apartment when he needs it the most. His mother seems to have a sharp cognizance to when he is going to go home too late to find it in himself to cook or even order takeout, so he’ll choose to just go to bed on an empty stomach.

He shoots her a quick thank you text as he waits for his dinner to heat up in the oven and grabs a beer, hoping she will never know that he defiled her lasagna by mixing it up with beer instead of red wine. She’d be greatly offended, but Alec sustains a few indelible things from his college years: an incredible resistance to stress, a tattoo right below his left shoulder blade, feelings he spends too much time ignoring, and an odd penchant for cheap beer.

The food ready, Alec grabs a fork and moves to the living room, crashing on the couch. He unfastens his tie, letting the knot hang loosely from his neck, and unbuckles the first three buttons of his shirt before dropping his feet on the coffee table and turning the TV on, digging into the lasagna.

The obnoxious theme tune from Idris TV blasts in his ears and he instantly mutes it with a confused frown and a wince, inwardly cursing Isabelle for dropping by in the morning and settling in front of the TV whilst he was getting ready for the day. It isn’t the kind of channel he ever watches, filled with celebrity gossip he can’t be bothered with and nauseating TV reality shows about straight people being locked together in enormous mansions that somehow never seem immense enough to contain the contestants’ gargantuan egos. These are the kind of media that had a field day with plastering Alec’s private life to the public after he was outed almost three years ago, and he loathes them with true and unrelenting passion.

He’s about to channel-hop in search of a wildlife documentary or anything but politics or trash TV when a picture flashes on the screen, immediately catching his attention. He turns the volume back on, and the high-pitched voice of the host fills the room.

_“Magnus Bane was spotted attending the opening night of his long-time friend Ragnor Fell’s new Broadway show tonight, and took the time to chat with some fans in the audience. He was filmed leaving the theater an hour after the show.”_

The screen switches to a video of Magnus outside the Belasco Theatre.

 _“Magnus!”_ a man yells at him behind the camera. _“How was the play?”_

 _“The play was amazing. Ragnor was terrible, of course, but it’s a good thing the other actors were so talented they somehow managed to make him look better,”_ Magnus replies politely, face blank, only breaking into a smile when he stops for a picture with a fan.

It’s only because Alec knows him as well as he does that he can spot the mischief in his eyes through the screen. Alec laughs in front of his TV, shaking his head in amusement.

He opens his thread of texts with Magnus, smiles for a minute at the last one – _If the cub doesn’t survive, I’m never watching a wildlife documentary again, Alexander. And I will blame you personally for my broken heart–_ and quickly types a new one.

_So you’re in town and you don’t even text or call? I’m deeply offended. Guess you’ll have to make it up to me._

_How long are you staying?_

He tosses his phone on the couch, quickly finishing the lasagna, and focuses back on the TV, where two of the hosts are now dissecting every millimeter of Magnus’ outfit. Magnus is regularly named ‘best dressed’ of every event he attends, so having them gushing about his outfit is no surprise. Alec finds himself agreeing with the host when they claim that burgundy is Magnus’ color, although Alec would be inclined to think every color is, but he catches himself before he can comment on it out loud and rolls his eyes, finally switching the channel.

He is settling for a rerun of Jurassic Park when the doorbell rings through the apartment.

Frowning, Alec pushes to his feet and drags himself down the hall. The security team in the building usually warns him when a visitor is coming up, especially when it is this late in the evening, so it’s quite odd that he hasn’t received a call from them.

He understands quickly, though, when he peeks through the peephole and is met with the sight of Paul Rudd nibbling on a pencil. Chuckling, Alec opens the door to find Magnus standing on the other side, a smirk on his lips, wearing the same outfit Idris TV was just gushing about. The keychain adorned with the Paul Rudd picture is dangling from his finger, and he leans against the threshold, arms crossed over his chest, a perfect mixture of grace and nonchalance.

Alec’s mind blanks for a moment at the sight of him, taking in how stunning Magnus indeed looks in a burgundy suit, his breath stuttering in his throat, but Magnus is already leaning forward to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

“Hello gorgeous,” he murmurs, before tilting his head up to glance at Alec, lips curved upwards. “I would’ve texted or called, but it’s funnier to charm your security team into letting me in, you know I like to live dangerously.”

Alec rolls his eyes, unable to hide the smile slowly taking over his features, and holds the door open for him, chewing on his bottom lip. “They changed the passcodes yesterday,” he says. “How did you get in without getting stopped by my security team?”

Magnus walks inside, already shrugging his jacket off. “Maia texted me your new security details today,” he explains. “Apparently, Helen called her last week to tell her I’d be back in New York and they figured you and I would see each other. Which is admittedly true because I had planned on dropping by tonight anyway but it’s a bit worrying that they knew that before we did.”

Alec chuckles, following him back to the living room. “Worrying, but not surprising.”

Magnus hums in agreement, dropping on the couch and taking a swig of Alec’s beer, grimacing at the taste. His brown eyes rake over Alec, taking in his disheveled shirt and tired features.

“Long day?”

Alec nods, sitting next to him with a deep sigh. “I had a public meeting in Queens in the morning, went canvassing with Maia and a small team in the afternoon and then we went back to the HQ to go over the finances and the planning of a charity auction we want to organize next month, which is turning into a massive headache.”

Magnus winces in sympathy, reaching out to gently knead his thumb in the tense spot right above his shoulder. Alec groans under the pressure, but shuffles to the side so that Magnus has more access to his aching muscles nonetheless.

“Charity auction?” he inquires absently, pressing his knuckle into one particular spot that has Alec hissing in pain and then sighing in relief.

“Yeah, for a Brooklyn based charity that helps queer kids who are kicked out of their homes by their families,” he explains. “They’re doing great work and we really want to help them. My cousin Aline is helping out with the organization but I want it to be perfect and we need to raise as much money as –ouch!” he exclaims, throwing Magnus an accusing glare over his shoulder.

“Don’t look at me like that, Alexander,” Magnus admonishes, although he does rub Alec’s shoulder in apology. “I’m just trying to help.”

“I know, I know,” Alec sighs. “I’m just stressed out.”

“You’re always stressed out,” Magnus says sympathetically. His hands slip lower, fingers trailing down Alec’s arms and back up, leaving waves of shivers in their wake, and Alec straightens up on his seat, his whole body suddenly awake and aware of every inch of Magnus’ presence behind him.

“Well,” he mutters, “I haven’t seen you in a month so maybe it’s your fault and you should help me with that.”

Magnus hums, half amused and half pleased, and hooks his fingers in the loose knot of Alec’s tie, slowly tugging on it so that Alec turns to face him, a playful smirk on his lips that tells Magnus exactly what he means. It positions him at a weird angle, but he can see the mischievous flicker in the amber of Magnus’ eyes, and a craving underneath that he is sure to be mirrored in his eyes.

“Gladly,” Magnus replies, the velvet of his voice enveloping Alec in a familiar cocoon that is just them and pleasures to come, “but you know it’s a bit late for a meditation class and I don’t have my leggings with me.”

Alec makes a show of rolling his eyes, and turns fully so that he is hovering above him. Magnus leans back onto the couch, using Alec’s tie to pull him down with him.

“You’re hilarious,” Alec says, deadpan, lips brushing against Magnus’ throat.

Magnus titters. “So I’ve been told. It makes you wonder why I didn’t go into comed–”

Alec shuts him up the best way he knows, by kissing him until Magnus forgets what words are and what meaning they are meant to entail. The kiss catches fire rapidly, and they don’t talk much after that. Words might be the heart of both of their jobs, but they know when to deem them irrelevant. Magnus’ fingertips are cold against his skin as their clothes are discarded, mapping intricate designs along his back, a path for them to follow.

Sex with Magnus is peculiar in that it demands Alec’s full and undivided attention and yet prevents him from formulating a single coherent thought. It is exactly what he needs after an interminable day, and so he kisses Magnus harder and lets their bodies melt away the futile hardships of the day.

.

Magnus wakes up to streaks of light pouring through a crack of the heavy black curtains. He blinks his eyes open with a groan, stretching his arms above his head, and yawns. The sheets are soft over his skin and smell like fresh lavender and he contemplates for a moment staying there, soaking in the warmth the bed offers, but his stomach growls, prompting him to sit up. His eyes dart over the room, still heavy with slumber, and fall on his discarded shirt on the floor.

Slipping out of the bed, he grabs it and shrugs it on, leaving it hanging open as he drags himself out. Music fills the air as soon as he exits the bedroom like waves ushering against sand, the sound smooth and effortless, a slow tempo that manages to chase away the last remnants of his slumber and elevate his spirits into a peaceful and reserved kind of joy.

Alec’s piano is a grand structure, all shiny, the pitch black clashing against the ivory complexion of its owner’s skin. The keys shimmer under Alec’s fingers, reflecting the sunlight pouring through the window and Magnus stops in the threshold, taking in the bright and beautiful scenery offered to him by a shirtless Alec playing, letting it stir wonders in his soul.

Alec hasn’t heard him coming, lost in the melody as Magnus has always known him to be when he indulges himself in a pleasure he doesn’t quite have enough time for as years pass by. The fluid tidal of the notes urges Magnus forward and his fingers brush over Alec’s back as he joins him, linger for a moment too long on the ink below his shoulder blade, watching silently as a chill arises where he touches, following it the way the music is following Alec’s fingers moving deftly over the keys.

Smiling to himself, Magnus grabs the fuming coffee on the cover, stealing a sip. He grimaces at the sweetness of it, and Alec rolls his eyes at him although he doesn’t move them from the piano, out of anticipation to Magnus’ reaction alone.

“There’s more in the kitchen,” he tells Magnus, his voice low and husky like it is when the morning is still fresh, “and milk in the fridge.”

Magnus hums in approval and drops a kiss in his hair.

A coffee poured and a cookie stolen from the cupboard, he lets himself be guided back by the soft melody, feeling utterly and completely at peace as he leans against the piano, watching the music seam through Alec’s dancing hands.

Alec’s fingers shift over the keys, playing another song that Magnus knows by heart. It is the song he used to play for him back in college, when Alec found the time to rent the practice room and Magnus could go with him. Liszt’s Love Dream has something magical, and if Magnus shuts his eyes, he can indeed find himself transported back to a realm of memories he doesn’t often allow himself to immerse in.

It brings him back to a time where things were more complicated and yet equally easier, where he and Alec were more than friends and occasional lovers when opportunity arises but so much more than that, when they were partners in every endeavor and the flame between them was more than what time passing has made of it.

The sun is shining outside, but Magnus smiles as if he could hear the rain streaming against the window of Alec’s tiny apartment in Boston where they would lock themselves up for days to study, sharing laughter and frustrations, stress and sweet nothings whispered deep into the night.

The song ends, the notes fading into nothingness, and with them Magnus’ wave of nostalgia. Silence fills the air between them, Alec reaching out to grab his coffee and take a long sip of it. It hangs amidst the morning peace for a suspended moment. Magnus smiles at Alec, and Alec smiles back at him, all soft edges and gleaming eyes, disheveled hair and charming dimples, and in that suspended moment, Magnus misses the early years.

“So,” he says, his voice barely rising over the sacred quiet, “what are you auctioning exactly at that charity event of yours?”

Alec raises an eyebrow, clearly baffled at a turn of conversation he wasn’t expecting, and Magnus smirks to himself behind his coffee mug. Alec is a politician, and part of what makes him such a good one is his ability to read people. Surprising him isn’t an easy feat, but Magnus can pride himself in achieving it every so often.

“Clary offered one of her paintings, which will probably be the main auction,” Alec replies. “We have a couple of designer outfits and a few movie costumes. And some celebrities gave us various signed items.”

Magnus hums in acknowledgement. “What can I offer?”

Alec blinks up at him, surprise flashing on his features. “What do you mean?”

“From what you’ve told me, it sounds exactly like a charity I’d love to support,” Magnus eludes. “So what can I offer for auction?”

“I-I don’t know. That’s up to you.”

Magnus nods pensively, taking another sip of coffee. “I’ll talk about it with Helen and I’ll let you know.”

Alec’s attempt to reply is cut off by the obnoxious ring of his phone, abandoned on the couch the night before.

Alec sighs and rises from the bench to grab it, and gone is the peace of their blissful morning as soon as he answers.

“Hey, Maia.”

He throws Magnus an apologetic grimace to which Magnus answers with a wink.

“No, I haven’t forgotten,” Alec says, his features morphed into the mask Magnus has learned to recognize as his politician face, cold and calculating, considering his schedule of the day to fit all his overwhelming responsibilities.

If he muffles a yelp on the phone when Magnus pinches his ass as he walks by on his way to the bathroom, Maia doesn’t need to know.

The steamy water is enough to dissipate the soreness from this body and the tension from his muscles from having been in a plane for the better part of the previous morning.

He doesn’t remember exactly when his life started being so hectic. He remembers his first role on TV, although he would much rather forget about it altogether, and then getting another one in a much bigger show, before his character was killed off in a dramatic twist. Then he remembers a studio calling, asking him to audition for a role his agent hadn’t even considered for him. He remembers how lonely he had felt on that morning, stressed out of his mind and scared to mess up the best chance that had been given to him. He remembers he had missed Alec then, but hadn’t called. Their breakup had been too fresh for him to do so, and he had landed the role nonetheless. He remembers he had missed him even more when he was unable to share the news with him and hear the pride in his voice. Things sped up from there, and Magnus’ career skyrocketed before he could truly understand what was going on.

He does remember perfectly when he saw Alec again, however, after years apart.

And every single detail of what happened that night.

Magnus is still in the shower when Alec walks in the bathroom without so much as a warning. They have both long forgone the shyness they might have felt in the early days of their relationship, which partly has to do with how many times they’ve seen each other naked, but mostly with how close the years have made them.

“I have a meeting in 45 minutes,” Alec tells him. “A car is coming to pick me up but you can stay here if you want, just lock the door behind you.”

“I’ve got a meeting too, actually,” Magnus replies, “so I’ll leave at the same time.”

“You still haven’t told me what you’re doing in New York and how long you’re staying,” Alec says. Magnus can hear him move in the bathroom, and see his silhouette through the frosted glass of the shower door.

“Just a couple of weeks,” Magnus replies. “I’m meeting HBO this morning for a short TV series and if everything goes well, I’ll have to meet them again in a couple of days. Then I’m taking ten days off before going back to LA to start the press tour for my new movie that’s coming out in a couple of months.”

“Your schedule is making me dizzy,” Alec comments.

“You’re just as busy.”

“Yeah, but at least I don’t have to fly from city to city and continent to continent twice a month,” Alec retorts.

“Well, I’m not running for New York City mayor, so there’s that.”

Alec chuckles, the sound made uneven by the shower door opening, suddenly clear and much lighter than the barrier between them allowed Magnus to hear.

“You take impossibly long showers,” Alec says accusingly. “Hurry up, I can’t meet Harlem’s residents in this state.”

Magnus rolls his eyes, running his hand in his hair to push it off his eyes so he can glare at Alec, his face quickly morphing into something playful that has Alec’s body still in anticipation.

“Yeah, fine,” Alec mutters before Magnus can even voice his thought out loud, a smile ghosting at the corner of his mouth as he gets rid of his boxers and joins him under the streaming water.

Magnus’ laughter dies against the barrier of Alec’s lips, morphing into a moan when Alec pushes him against the shower wall, covering his body with his own.

.

Helen is already waiting in the Starbucks at the corner of 42nd Avenue when Magnus walks in. Her blonde hair is tucked into a loose ponytail and she’s wearing an elegant pant suit that somehow looks equally casual and professional.

“Is everything okay?” she asks before he can even greet her, her brows furrowed in concern.

Magnus lifts an eyebrow, nodding. “Yeah, of course, why?”

“You’re actually early,” Helen replies and Magnus can now hear plainly that the worry was all staged, her face breaking into a grin.

“Ha ha.” He takes a seat in front of her, shaking the orange juice she ordered for him.

“How was your night?” she asks, a knowing glint shining in her brown eyes. “How’s Alec?”

“Relaxing, and stressed out,” Magnus replies, prompting a laugh from her. “I actually want to talk to you about something before we meet with the HBO people.”

Helen leans forward, cupping her coffee between her hands. “Shoot.”

“Alec’s organizing an auction in a couple of months for a charity and I’d like to participate,” Magnus eludes. “I’d also like to publicly endorse him.”

Helen blinks up at him for a moment, surprise written plainly on her features, before her brows dip in consideration. Magnus lets a silence fill the air between them as she takes in the information and takes a long sip of his orange juice. It’s too acid and it makes him grimace, but it’s a good distraction from his agent staring at him as if he’s grown a second head, lost into her own reflection. He quickly checks Twitter, smiling at the picture of Alec and Luke shaking hands with complete strangers with warm grins on their faces, looking positively handsome in their black pants and white shirts. Magnus wonders if they consulted each other before dressing up in the morning. Knowing Maia and her campaign methods, the casual look is most definitely not a coincidence. It gives a sense of harmony through their clothing, and Magnus knows this kind of message will be dissected by journalists on the political news shows in the evening, talking family unity for the ones that support Alec, and of nepotism for the others.

“I thought your whole relationship was a secret,” Helen says eventually.

“It still is,” Magnus replies absently, tearing his eyes away from a picture of Alec posing with an elderly woman, looking adorable and deadly serious all at once.

“Are you sure you want to do that?” she presses. “We could definitely come up with some kind of fancy dinner with you for the charity auction, but publicly endorsing him could potentially endanger your secret and I know neither of you wants that.”

Magnus lifts an eyebrow, and proceeds to meticulously peel the label of the plastic bottle, putting his phone away. “I don’t see how me supporting Alec in his campaign could turn into ‘they were dating in college and now they’re exes with benefits’. Plenty of actors support politicians all the time.”

“Yes, but I don’t think they’re fucking them,” Helen says matter-of-factly, the words crude enough to have Magnus finally gaze back at her.

Helen is always an outspoken person, and it is part of why Magnus hired her as his agent after he ditched the first one who only signed him up for auditions for ridiculous roles Magnus had no business in playing. She never minces her words with him, but she does so even less when she considers that his well-being is at risk, or that he is simply being a stubborn idiot. This is why he loves her, and why they make such a great team, but she knows that there are things Magnus finds worth being stubborn for, and how difficult it is for him to back down when he does.

“Come on,” Magnus huffs, “you’re one of the most observant people I know and you had no idea about us until I told you myself.”

Helen sucks in her bottom lip, frowning. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.” She grabs his hand, squeezing gently.

“I think you’re putting too much thought into this,” Magnus says, eyes softening as he answers her apologetic smile with one of his own. “I know your job is to imagine the worst possible scenarios and figure out a solution to them but you’re overthinking this.”

“Because you forget to think when Alec is involved,” she mumbles, but Magnus can hear her clearly. He glares, lips pinched, and she sighs heavily. “Sorry. Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she adds, pointing an ominous finger at him.

Magnus grabs her hand, and plants a kiss on her knuckles. “I promise Alec and I won’t get caught having a quickie under the buffet table.”

Helen slips her hand out of his grip to swat his gently, rolling her eyes, before grabbing her purse and phone. “Come on, let’s go win you that role.”

“It’s HBO,” Magnus says with a shrug, offering his arm. Helen hooks her own to his as they make their way out of the coffee shop. “I’ll just take my clothes off and parade around naked.”

Helen’s laugh is loud and boisterous as they walk down the street toward the studios, the noise immediately swallowed by the frenzy of New York.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for today, I hope you liked it!
> 
> A big thank you to my boo [Jackie](https://twitter.com/jwrites_) for beta'ing this and putting up through my various breakdowns throughout the writing process of this fic. I love you bish.
> 
> The fic is finished already and the next chapter just needs minor edits so it will be posted pretty quickly ;).
> 
> Next time: the balcony.
> 
> I'm (mostly) on twitter [@_L_ecrit](https://twitter.com/_L_ecrit) and sometimes on tumblr [@lecrit](http://lecrit.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Thank you for reading.  
> All the love,  
> Lu.


	2. The waves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A concert, a balcony, a car trip and a hotel room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you choose to live-tweet this first chapter, please use the hashtag #lecrit so I can follow your reactions!
> 
> Happy reading!

**LOS ANGELES, MARCH 2014**

Alec watches the arena slowly fill out from his spot behind the curtains, a proud smile blooming on his lips. He knows the concert was sold out, but it is still incredibly nobling to see it with his own eyes, even more so when one considers the immensity of the Staples Center.

A shaky hand lands on his back. “That’s a whole fucking lot of people.”

Alec chuckles, turning to face Simon. “You’ve got a whole fucking lot of fans, Lewis.”

“What if I fuck it up and I have zero fans by the end of the night?” Simon asks, chewing on his bottom lip nervously, gaze wide and panicked behind his glasses.

Alec rolls his eyes and grabs him firmly by the shoulders, forcing Simon to glance up at him. “You’ll have at least one.”

Simon heaves out a deep breath, relaxing minutely. “Aw,” he coos, voice suddenly lighter, laying a hand over his heart as he bats his eyelashes at Alec, “I knew you loved me and you weren’t just pretending to be my best friend all these years.”

Alec lifts an eyebrow, sending him a deadpan look. “I was talking about your mom. I still very much hate you and your music.”

Simon glares, punching his shoulder as Alec leans back, head thrown back in laughter. “You’re an asshole.”

Alec shrugs in agreement, but he smiles down at Simon, who smiles back, looking positively more relaxed than he did a minute ago.

“Simon, five minutes!” a brunette with headphones on her head and a black jacket with the word ‘STAFF’ written on her back announces loudly.

“I’ll go find my seat,” Alec says, giving Simon a quick hug. “You’ll do great and I’ll see you afterwards.”

“Go find your seat,” Simon agrees, and his eyes glint with something that makes Alec pause. It is gone a second later, however, when Simon grins joyfully. “Go! We’ll meet backstage after the show and you can tell me what an amazing best friend I am.”

“Don’t count on it,” Alec calls back before turning on his heels as Simon slides the strap of his guitar over his head.

The way to the VIP area is a maze of corridors and stairs, and more corridors, but Alec eventually finds his way, following meticulously the instructions Simon’s stage manager gave him earlier. It’s a large balcony overseeing the whole arena, but close enough to the stage that the only people who have a better view than Alec himself are the ones in the pit right in front of it.

The place is packed now, the crowd moving as one, cellphone lights shining into the night like thousands of fireflies. Alec can see a few fan-made signs from there, as well as some rainbow flags in the crowd, and the sight makes him smile. He can’t help but hope he’ll be able to brandish one in public like these people are one day. He just needs a little more time. He’ll get there someday.

The arena’s lights shut down abruptly, and a loud cheer runs across the crowd, trepidation palpable in the air. Simon walks onto the stage and immediately starts playing the first few notes of his hit song ‘Undead’ on his acoustic guitar, and Alec beams proudly at the reaction of the audience, the place vibrating with energy.

When he first met Simon eight years ago, Alec never imagined that his overly talkative, messy, and begrudgingly endearing roommate would become an acclaimed music star or even less that he would witness it –mostly because Alec had spent a good part of their first weeks living together trying to ignore Simon as much as possible, which was made impossible by… well, Simon himself. He is nothing if not tenacious and ambitious, two qualities that are required both to make it in the music industry and to make a friend of Alec.

Alec lets the first two songs flow by before he turns around to go get himself a beer from the bar –another perk of the VIP area. He slips a tip to the barman and swirls back around to face the stage, but bumps right into the extended hand that was reaching for him. Alec startles, and he blinks in silence as he recognizes the almost stranger in front of him.

Magnus is everything but a stranger, and the deep brown of his eyes, shaded with amber, is more familiar to Alec than the melody Simon’s Gibson is now playing. Magnus hasn’t changed much in the three years since Alec last saw him –if he did at all, Alec wouldn’t know. The true constant Alec finds in his eyes, in the warmth they still enclose, and in his smile, a tiny upturn of the corner of his lips, coy and sheepish all at once.

“Magnus,” Alec breathes out.

The name feels almost foreign, as if he hadn’t uttered it in too long and now his mind is troubling to catch up with his mouth. Still, it manages to make Alec’s heart stutter.

He wonders for a second if this is real, if perhaps he never moved from his spot against the barrier of the balcony and lost himself to Simon’s music to the point where his brain conjured a cruel but utterly welcomed delusion for him to dream on.

He knows, however, that his brain could never do justice to the utter beauty of Magnus, and the man standing in front of him is too real to be anything but.

“Hi, Alexander,” Magnus says. His voice is smooth and soft, the way Alec remembers it to be when he talks to people he cares deeply about, and the thought of Magnus still caring the way he did, still valuing Alec’s presence like a treasure to be revered is enough to make Alec’s heart stutter in his chest.

“Magnus,” Alec echoes, finding it hard to say anything else.

He is admittedly overwhelmed with both surprise and a certain kind of euphoria.

The last time he saw Magnus, they were both crying. And now he’s here, three years later, standing and smiling and breathing, and God, Alec missed him.

“I’ve missed you too,” Magnus says, because Alec has apparently decided to make a fool of himself in front of the only man he’s ever loved after not seeing him for so long the mere sight of him has rendered him speechless.

Magnus moves imperceptibly closer, his hands twitching as if hesitating to reach out but he rolls back on his heels, pursing his lips, and Alec is somewhat stunned to realize he can still read him as easily as he could when they were dating.

Heaving out a deep sigh, Alec surges forward and wraps Magnus in a tight embrace, careful not to spill his drink on Magnus’ black silk shirt or blue pants. His heart slams against his ribcage as he feels Magnus relax against him, and his own arms enveloping Alec firmly. Alec’s eyes shut; he breathes Magnus in, and loses himself to it. Simon’s voice is smooth and clear and powerful in the arena and for a moment, Alec lets himself believe they are all alone in this world, lovers reunited after years apart.

They draw back eventually, and Alec isn’t quite sure who does first, but he finds himself staring at Magnus again, gladly letting the mere sight of him make it harder to breathe.

“Come on,” Magnus says, pointing toward Alec’s seat with a jerk of his chin, “let’s catch up.”

Alec nods, following him to the balcony with what he is sure to be a dazed look on his face. He takes a long swig of his beer, and leans against the barrier next to him.

“How is Los Angeles treating you?” he asks.

Magnus shrugs. “Pretty well. I just shot a movie with Tessa Gray, and I think we did some good work on that one.”

Alec can see that it means more to him than he lets on, but he’ll let Magnus have this one. “I don’t doubt it. You’ve always been insanely talented,” he replies honestly. He remembers going to Magnus’ first play back in Boston, and how transfigured he had been at the way Magnus was owning the stage with nothing but his presence and his words. Alec had known, then, that he would amount to great things. That knowledge has only been comforted throughout the years where he followed Magnus’ career from afar.

Magnus smiles, and bumps their arms together playfully. “I’d ask how you’ve been doing, but I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t kept up with your achievements,” he says. “Congratulations on winning your election to the City Council. How are you liking it?”

“Thank you,” Alec mutters. It would be a lie for him to say he wasn’t proud already to have wormed his way into the City Council at such a young age, and to have witnessed the abiding support his family always displays for his career, but hearing it from Magnus somehow validates it all. The sacrifices, the struggles. The loss. “It’s exhausting and I spend a lot of time fighting with people in higher positions than I am but overall it’s been great. I’m on the Standards and Ethics committee, so it’s not exactly easy every day.”

“You’ll do great things, Alexander,” Magnus says with a confidence Alec sometimes lacks himself. “I’ve always known it.”

A silence lingers in the air between them, peaceful but heavy with the meaning of a thousand words. Simon’s voice is still resonating in every corner of the arena, and Alec can see even from the distance that he is glowing, blossoming here on this stage where he was always meant to be. This is what Simon was always meant to be doing, MIT degree in Computer Science or not. This is where he thrives, when he stands in front of an audience with a broad grin that couldn’t be faked, when he plays, when he sings.

This is the same kind of thrill Alec gets from being into politics, from doing what he loves and trying his best to make something that matters. He knows it is also what Magnus sought when he went into acting.

They are doing exactly what they promised themselves they would do. They sacrificed their relationship for their careers, because they knew the long distance would be too hard for them who had been used to being with each other every single day for the four years they dated. For a moment, Alec lets himself wonder what would have happened had he not gone back to New York after their graduation and Magnus to Los Angeles to pursue his dreams.

They would still be together, he knows. They were meant for the long haul, for the kind of incandescent love poets write about, love that never runs out, love that never fades away.

Simon’s next song is called ‘As Soon As The Sun Goes Down,’ and Alec finds a poetic irony to it. It’s a song about finding happiness, and losing it, and finding it again in something else, and Alec sometimes wonders if Simon wrote it for them, but much like he didn’t tell Alec that Magnus would be here tonight, Simon keeps the true inspiration to his songs carefully concealed. Alec thinks he is right to, because it allows a wider interpretation and for that suspended moment in time, he chooses to believe this is a song for Magnus and him, a song about the happiness they lost when they parted three years ago to go to opposite ends of the country, and the fulfillment they found in what they do.

Alec watches the phone lights and lighters moving to the melody, the crowd singing along as one. The song ends with slow, evanescent piano, and then for a second only, there is complete silence in the arena.

Magnus’ fingers brush against Alec’s arm, and his breath hitches in his throat, but then the crowd starts cheering loudly, and whatever this is dies down with the beginning of a new song.

“So,” Magnus says, clearing his throat, “how are the rest of the Lightwoods? Still wreaking havoc wherever they go?”

Alec chuckles and turns to glance at Magnus by his side. He knows his eyes must be speaking confessions he would rather keep unsaid, but there is a tenderness mirrored in Magnus’, and Alec doesn’t mind baring his soul to him if it means he gets a glimpse of Magnus’ in return.

“They never stopped,” he says. “Our annual Christmas break in the Hamptons ended in the ER because Jace broke his arm while trying to imitate Tarzan with a branch of fairy lights.”

Magnus’ laugh is loud and crystalline, a symphony of sorts that Alec cherishes incomparably. He remembers thinking, years ago, that he wanted to be a manufacturer of it for as long as he could.

A certain sense of peace washes over him when he realizes this is a promise he made to himself that he can still revel in.

The rest of the concert goes by quickly. They chat about everything and nothing, the things they’ve missed and the ones they lived together. They laugh about their common memories and smile at the new ones they are told. It feels like they just parted the day before, and Alec wonders if there is anything more precious than this, than the kind of relationship that doesn’t look on the years passing, the complicity remaining, immutable to time and hardships.

They are still talking when they meet a triumphant Simon backstage. Alec’s traitorous best friend is beaming when he sees them walking in the green room, but Alec can’t find it in himself to be truly mad at him, perhaps because Magnus has always had an incredibly pacifying and soothing effect on him. Perhaps because he appreciates Simon’s surprise more than he lets on –although he will never tell him as much.

They spend a good portion of the rest of the night celebrating Simon’s first world tour kicking off on a great start. Alec finds himself glancing at Magnus more often than would be deemed reasonable, but most of the time, Magnus is gazing right back at him, so he doesn’t let him feel too cautious about it. Sometimes, he smiles and Alec thinks there must be a problem with the tectonic plates in California indeed because the earth seems to be quaking beneath him every time.

It is late into the night when Simon yawns loudly, half drifting off already, the adrenaline leaving his body all at once and leaving nothing but exhaustion in its stead.

Alec leaps to his feet, patting Simon’s shoulder. “I’m gonna call a taxi and go back to my hotel,” Alec says. “Get some rest, I’ll see you tomorrow before my flight in the evening.”

“I can give you a ride,” Magnus says, wrapping a light midnight blue scarf around his neck. “I drove here.”

Alec shakes his head. “I don’t want to bother you.”

“It’s on my way anyway,” Magnus retorts offhandedly.

Alec lifts an amused eyebrow. “I didn’t tell you where my hotel was,” he remarks, unable to keep the conceit out of his voice.

Magnus rolls his eyes, but Alec thinks he can see a light flush coloring his cheekbones and the tip of his ears. “Never mind,” he scoffs, staging offense. “Just walk back to your hotel, loser. Bye, Simon. I’ll see you on Sunday for brunch. Bye, Alexander.”

He walks out without another word, and Alec is left gaping for a second, before he blinks in shock at Simon.

“Go!” his best friend exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air in despair.

Alec nods, and runs out of the door after Magnus. He must be more predictable than he thought because Magnus is waiting for him on the other side, arms crossed over his chest and a smirk tugging at the corner of his ever-tempting lips.

He lifts an eyebrow in silence, and Alec simply rolls his eyes in response, mumbling an evasive ‘shut up’ as he pushes past Magnus towards the parking lot. Magnus laughs, but it’s sweet and teasing and it makes Alec smile despite himself.

After Alec gives Magnus the name of his hotel, the ride is mostly silent but it is a unique kind of silence. It is the quiet that preludes the most devastating tempests, that can either bring great things or utter misery.

It is charged with electricity, filling the car with a restless energy that has a shiver run down Alec’s spine. Alec is acutely aware of Magnus’ every move, his fingers drumming against the wheel to the rhythm of a pop song despite the volume being set to the minimum, his grip slightly too tight, telling Alec that he isn’t the only one feeling the tension in the car.

He knows exactly what kind of tension it is, for it was with Magnus that Alec learned to let it consume him. He has been with very few men since Magnus, because he isn’t out yet and it is a risk he can only take if he is certain it is worth it, and because Magnus left a hole in his heart and Alec hasn’t met anyone who would be worth even attempting to fill it.

Alec hasn’t been in love since Magnus, and there are times when he wonders whether he will ever be again.

It seems impossible, to love again after him. Magnus left an indelible mark on his heart and although time made the pain of it less piercing, it still hurts, sometimes, to think of his smile in the mornings and his tears when they parted.  

Outside there is barely any traffic, the roads almost empty at this time of the night. The wind that washes against the windows is obnoxiously loud as they sit knee deep in silence, but Alec can’t find it in himself to break it. The fragile peace his heart had managed to find in the past years is broken now that Magnus is by his side again, and it never even had a chance to take root.

But Alec leaves tomorrow, and that means he’ll have to say goodbye one more time, and he’ll have to mean it, because he doesn’t know when he’ll see Magnus again.

Alec’s hotel is by the beach in Santa Monica, but the breeze coming from the sea is inconsequent in face of the brittleness of the air in the car. Magnus stops right in front of the door, but Alec doesn’t get out immediately, leaning into his seat, hands gripping his own knees tightly, nails poking at the side seam.

Magnus doesn’t try to talk either, and he is still gripping the wheel as if afraid of what he’ll do if he lets go, but Alec can hear the light stutter of his breath breaking past the barrier of his lips, and perhaps it is what prompts him to gather his courage.

“Do you–” he starts, but cuts himself off to swallow thickly, words feeling like ashes in his mouth, “do you want to come up for a drink?”

Magnus turns to look at him, and his eyes are clear, his pupils just slightly dilated. Alec can read miracles in these eyes, unveil the world’s darkest mysteries. He can get lost in them and never fear he won’t find his way back.

Magnus bites on his bottom lip, inhales deeply. “Alexander, we both know that if I come up, it won’t be for a drink,” he says. His voice is rough, shaking slightly, and Alec wants to hear it murmuring sweet nothings in the curve of his ear, wants to hear nothing but it for the next hours of his life.

“I know,” he says.

“You still live in New York, and I spend most of the year here,” Magnus reasons.

“I know.”

“I can’t fall for you again,” Magnus whispers, “not like this.” His voice is low, vulnerable, and Alec wants to reach out, tug him against him until no harm can come to him, but there isn’t much he can do when they were both instigators of their own pain.

So Alec sighs, and smiles something sad. “I can’t either,” he murmurs, although he knows that it isn’t a matter of _again_ , but more. _Deeper_.

Magnus nods absently, gaze lost into nothingness. “Okay.” He unbuckles his seat belt and turns to glance at Alec again, letting out a deep breath. “Okay.”

Before Alec can fully comprehend what he means, he climbs out of the car, and it takes Alec a second to follow him, numbed by the tension still coursing through his whole body. He watches in silence as Magnus gives his car keys to the valet waiting by the door, slipping a tip in his hand.

They walk in the lobby together and right to the elevator, and only then does Alec allow himself to exhale. His mind is thrumming with anticipation, his ears ringing as he urges the initial shock away, and lets the reality of what is happening settle in.

Alec’s hotel room smells like fresh lavender and there is not much to it but a king-sized bed with immaculate cotton sheets sitting against the wall and Alec’s luggage on a chair by the window. The thick beige curtains are opened on an unbeatable view of the beach, and the ocean spreading endlessly. In the dead of the night, it looks like an infinity of darkness, only brightened by the moon’s reflection, clear and breathtaking.

Yet, Alec can’t really take his eyes off Magnus as he untangles the scarf from his neck and moves to the floor-to-ceiling windows to stare at the immensity. Alec wonders if he feels as small as he does. He joins him in two strides, but hovers behind Magnus in silence, scanning the language his body speaks beyond his words. His shoulders are tense, and he is toying with one of the rings on his fingers, but he doesn’t seem as nervous as Alec first thought him to be now. He looks pensive, imbued with a nostalgia Alec can fully relate to.

There are things Magnus doesn’t tell the world, things he keeps buried so deeply he must ponder their liveness himself, but Alec sees beyond the facade, beyond the carefully-constructed walls and impenetrable suit of armor.

He loved Magnus, and Magnus loved him, and he doesn’t know where they stand now, even less where they will tomorrow, but for now they have this night, the start of something new, and different and perhaps less wholesome, but just as passionate. This is the only way Alec ever knew to be around Magnus.

His fingers waver over Magnus’ waist, hesitant and waiting, and Magnus leans into the touch, bringing answers and another vastitude of questions.

Alec feels his own breath stuttering against Magnus’ neck, hot and urgent. His lips brush tenderly against the skin offered to him, not kissing just yet. A shiver runs through the both of them, and Alec presses his mouth to Magnus’ pulse point, his thumb running idle circles against his hip bone.

He presses closer, feeling Magnus’ warmth against his chest, his mind wandering with his lips, slow and gentle. His smell is intoxicating, and as Alec nuzzles against his neck, the scenery disappears. Only remains the immensity of this moment, this bond he had lost, this unique ardor he rediscovers.

Magnus turns around leisurely to face him, and Alec leans his forehead against his, panting already. His lips meander over Magnus’ cheekbone, and his thumb reaches up to brush lightly across his bottom lip, barely touching. He wants to kiss him, with everything that he is, but he wants to savour every second too, learning again the small intakes of breath his fingers can ignite, the feel of soft skin beneath his fingertips. It is a conundrum, but one Alec welcomes without much of a thought. So Alec waits, listening for a moment longer to the sound of the waves crashing against the shore outside, soft and soothing but paling in comparison to Magnus’ billowing, quiet breaths crashing against his lips and setting fire to his core.

He waits, and Magnus waits with him, until his patience runs thin and he simply but tenderly cups Alec’s face between his hands, looks into his eyes and presses their mouths together.

Alec is reminded of all the reasons why he missed Magnus, and how his heart ached, and ached and agonized over his absence. It all vanishes under his wandering touch, burns to ash with the passion that consumes and guides their bodies in their familiar discovery of the other’s.

Alec hadn’t forgotten the feeling, nor does he think he ever could. But for a moment in time, he remembers all that Magnus was to him, and all that they learned from and of each other in the name of passion.

And for a moment in time, all is well.

Later, when he lays naked in the bed, their bodies so tangled together one couldn’t be able to know where they begin and end, Alec tells himself that this, as ephemeral and heart-wrenching as it may be, could be what betides of their story.

They loved, they parted, they reunited, and tomorrow, they will part again.

“You think too much,” Magnus murmurs, pressing a kiss against Alec’s shoulder blade, his thumb stroking lightly the lines inked into his skin.

“Thinking too much is literally my job,” Alec opines, somewhat stubbornly.

Magnus chuckles, burying his nose in Alec’s neck, and Alec feels lighter at once. Magnus’ small outbursts of joy did always have an worryingly soothing effect on him.

“Exactly,” Magnus argues. “You overthink everything enough already. Don’t overthink this.”

“Are you okay with just this?” Alec replies because he isn’t ready to go into a full-blown argument about his tendency to surmise every aspect of a problem until it doesn’t really make sense anymore. The question is for the both of them, and he knows Magnus is fully aware of it. “We’re not together anymore.”

He says it as a statement, an evidence they’re both aware of, but he keeps the disappointment it carries to himself. He can’t say –or sometimes, know– whether it actually is disappointment anyway. It’s a blend of regret and nostalgia and it’s been such a long time that Alec isn’t always certain the hole in his chest isn’t a fruit of his own doing, a deep torment he let grow into anguish by dwelling on the past. The pain subdued with time and a probably unhealthy amount of work, but that pain is his own, and Alec selfishly wants to guard it, to keep it to himself. Truth is, he wouldn’t really know what to do without it, for he grew accustomed to having it escort him through every step and every hardship.

“We’re not,” Magnus agrees, oblivious to Alec’s internal turmoil. Absently, Alec wonders if Magnus is going through the same inward chaos. “But I missed this, and I missed you. And that’s enough for me.”

Alec shifts in the bed to face him, leaning forward to kiss his forehead lightly. “Okay,” he murmurs. “Can I call you next time I’m in LA?”

Magnus smiles, small but teasing. “Only if I can call you next time I’m in New York.”

Alec nods, and silence settles again between them, but it is more comfortable. Alec relaxes into his pillow and he is about to drift off entirely when a thought flashes to his mind.

“Magnus?” he asks, barely over a whisper. The room is silent save the peaceful echo of the waves and the beats of his own heart vibrating in his own ears.

“Mmph?” Magnus mumbles, the sound half muffled by sleep and Alec’s neck.

“Does that mean we’re exes with benefits?”

Magnus snorts, and tightens his hold on Alec’s waist, pinching his side playfully. “Go the fuck to sleep, fuck buddy.”

Alec rolls his eyes, but obliges, an immutable smile tugging at his lips.

It is the best sleep he’s gotten in years.

Three, to be precise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think? Let me know.  
> I will see you on Sunday for the next chapter :).
> 
> Thank you to my boo [Jackie](https://twitter.com/jwrites_) for beta'ing this chapter.
> 
> Next time: the rainbow pin.
> 
> I'm (mostly) on twitter [@_L_ecrit](https://twitter.com/_L_ecrit) and sometimes on tumblr [@lecrit](http://lecrit.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Thank you for reading.  
> All the love,  
> Lu.


	3. The rainbow pin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An interview, a surprise visit and a picture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey cupcakes,
> 
> If you want to live-tweet, please use #lecrit so I can keep track of your reactions.
> 
> Big thank you to my boo Jackie for beta'ing this chapter and putting her fake social media talents to good use. Love you bish.
> 
> Happy reading!

**NEW YORK, FEBRUARY 2017.**

The Sunset Terrace at Chelsea Piers has an unbeatable view of the Hudson River and the skyline rising majestically on the other side. When Magnus arrives at seven o’clock sharp, the light of the day has already drained away, giving way to the velvety dark of the night, and the beautiful landscape of lights reflecting in the peaceful water.

There are already people buzzing around, waiting expectantly for the auction to begin, excitement coursing through the room. He sees Alec and Maia standing on the other side, greeting some newcomers with warm smiles. Alec looks positively dashing in his navy blue suit, and the small rainbow pin on the lapel of his blazer makes pride flutter in Magnus’ chest.

He knew Alec in a time when he dedicated so much energy to hiding who he was that he had barely any left to be himself behind closed doors. To see him now, displaying his truth so plainly and unabashedly, it is a matter of great pride, and even greater meaning, although Alec never quite realized how truly inspiring he is, to Magnus and everyone he touches.

Magnus blinks away before he can be caught staring for too long by the prying journalists gathered in the room, and readjusts the lapels of his burgundy velvet suit, slowly turning his head in a circle to relieve the everlasting tension in his shoulders, before he walks in fully.

A couple of journalists spot him right away, but not before Magnus spots Maryse and Luke chatting over champagne flutes, and he jumps on the occasion to avoid prying questions he doesn’t want to reply to just yet. He knows he won’t be able to avoid them for the whole night, but he can at least postpone it for a little while. He hasn’t officialized his support to the public eye, but they went over it countless times with Helen –who disappeared as soon as they arrived to see if there was something for her to supervise, because it is just who she is. He is ready for it, but he thinks he is rightfully allowed to delay it a little so that he can greet his ex’s parents.

“Magnus!” Maryse exclaims when she catches him walking towards them. Her long dark hair is pouring over her shoulders, and her cheeks are a bit flushed. Whether it is due to a little too much champagne or her husband standing next to her, his hand on her lower back, Magnus has no idea. He decides some things are better left unsaid.

She hugs him tightly when he reaches them, beaming, squeezing him against her with an enthusiasm that brings a fond smile to his lips. She only lets go when Luke clears his throat next to her, and Magnus chuckles against her ear.

“Right, right,” she says, rolling her eyes and leaning back to let him hug Luke too. “You look so handsome!” she exclaims when he pulls back, smoothing nonexistent dust from his shoulders.

“Thank you,” he chuckles. “I made an effort for the occasion. But it’s nothing compared to you two. Best looking couple in the whole of New York.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Luke replies amiably, patting his shoulder in approval.

“Alec said you were auctioning something but he didn’t say what,” Maryse remarks, leaning in as if she is expecting him to reveal a great secret. If she knew the one he and her son are keeping, she’d sure be in for a shock.

“Dinner with Ragnor and I,” he says with a chuckle. “I managed to convince the old sod, as long as he didn’t have to come tonight.”

“Well I’m sure there are some people ready to pay a handsome price for this,” she replies with a teasing smile.

“I sure hope so.” Magnus shrugs, gazing back at the room. Alec is still standing on the other side, hands tucked behind his back as he listens intently to a petite Asian woman talking to him, nodding along and looking utterly entranced by whatever story she is telling.

When he turns back to Maryse and Luke, they are both watching him with matching quirked eyebrows and knowing smirks and as much as Magnus loves that Luke managed to bring out a more lighthearted, happier side of Maryse, he sometimes wishes it wasn’t playing against him. Whatever they think they know about this whole thing, they are undeniably far from the truth, and Magnus doesn’t want to be the one to give it away.

It is silly, probably, for them to keep it from Alec’s family, but he thinks there is a part of them both that wants to keep this relationship, or lack thereof, jealously guarded.

“I should go say hi,” he says, clearing his throat.

“You do that,” Luke says, an amused flicker in his eyes.

Magnus chooses to ignore them and walks away, heading straight for Alec. And Maia. Alec and Maia.

He nods politely to the few people he passes by and hears gasping when they recognize him. The woman Alec was talking to is gone now, but Maia is the first to see him, elbowing her companion and murmuring something under her breath that Magnus can’t hear. It makes Alec look his way at once, and Magnus inhales sharply when those mesmerizing hazel eyes settle on him, warm and intense all at once.

Maia waits for him to join them to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Hello, gorgeous.”

“Hello, beautiful,” he replies with a grin. Her dress is navy blue as well, matching Alec’s suit perfectly but for the small silver stars scattered over the fabric, mapping constellations.

She squeezes his elbow gently, and Magnus winks at her, before turning to Alec with a smile.

"Lovely to see you, Mr. Lightwood,” he says, utterly professional if only for the teasing glint he knows is easily readable in his eyes for someone who knows him as well as Alec does.

“And you, Mr. Bane,” Alec replies in the same tone, shaking his hand. There is the same glimmer in his gaze, the mirth efficiently concealed lest one’s eye is as trained to identify the various secrets of Alec’s expressions as Magnus’ is. “Thank you for taking the time.”

Magnus leans in with a smirk, although he makes sure to keep reasonable distance between them. “I wouldn’t miss it,” he says, letting go of Alec’s hand somewhat reluctantly. “I have tremendous respect for the future mayor of New York."

Alec chuckles, and sends him a half glare, half smile that has Magnus biting the inside of his cheek so he doesn’t reply with a teasing smirk that would most likely give away how truly comfortable they get around each other.

“Mr. Bane,” a nasally voice calls at his back, “do you have a moment to answer a few questions?”

Magnus sighs, his eyes shifting to Maia. “Did you _have_ to invite the press?” he murmurs, and although she snorts, the ‘behave!’ in her dark eyes is easy to translate.

Magnus swirls around to face the journalist, splaying a smile on his features. He eyes dubiously the press pass hanging around the man’s neck, reading the words Idris TV.

He knows it is all part of their strategy to target a larger audience than the ones usually interested in politics –or more accurately, in voting– but Magnus truly wishes Alec’s team wouldn’t make him invite the kinds of vultures who had no mercy for him when he was publicly outed and thoroughly discussed it on their sets as if it was any of their business. He remembers too well how they all claimed that what Blackwell had done was reprehensible and shameful and yet made sure to discuss it unabashedly on television sets as if the fact that the news hadn’t come from them in the first place made it okay. One of the side effects of Magnus’ job is that his relationship with journalists can be somewhat difficult at times but frankly, there is no news outlet that he loathes as much as he does Idris TV and their risible pretense at journalism.

He knows, too, that in the line of work Alec has chosen, he can’t exactly hold grudges, or this is all he’ll end up doing with his time, which is why Magnus is happy to do that for him.

“Maybe later, darling,” he says, lethal and smooth all at once. “I think I’ll start with your colleagues at DBC. I want to make sure nothing I say could be misinterpreted, and I know you like to spread information without digesting it first to be certain to have the first scoop.” The man is visibly shocked by his rebuttal, and Magnus preens inwardly, patting his shoulder. “You can tell people I’m wearing Armani.”

One of the most important things Magnus has learned from evolving in this industry is to insult people without them ever realizing it. It’s an art he excels in, perhaps because he mastered the ability to save face through white lies and omitted truth. Had he any other relationship with his father than the mostly absent and vaguely indifferent one they maintain, he supposes Asmodeus would be proud.

Unapologetic for the offense he might have caused, Magnus walks away without another word, leaving the journalist gaping behind him.

He goes to find his assigned seat and it takes less than a minute after he’s settled for the next one to find him.

“Mr. Bane?” she says politely. Magnus gazes up at her with a bored expression. Her sandy white hair clashes with her dark skin, but she manages to make it work, the whole complimented by her pale blue dress. “Do you have a moment to answer a few questions? I’m Gretel Monroe, I’m here for DBC and I’m writing a paper on tonight’s event.”

Magnus nods, motioning for her to take a seat next to him. His table is still empty for now, but he knows Clary, Jace, and Isabelle will be joining him soon enough, providing him with the perfect occasion to cut it short if the need arises.

She beams, excitement flashing on her features as she sits down, slipping a small recorder out of her handbag.

She doesn’t press play, though, leaning in towards him with sparkling eyes. “I’m a huge fan,” she admits, a hint of shyness dampening her smile. “You were amazing in _Casanova and I_.”

Magnus smiles, patting her hand in gratitude. “Thank you, dear.” He motions to the recorder. “Shall we?”

Gretel nods rapidly, and presses play. “So, Mr. Bane–” the previous enthusiasm is almost gone, her voice dropping to a professional, efficient tone, “–can we assume that your presence here tonight means you support Mr. Lightwood in his race for the Mayor’s Office?”

“You can assume it means I support the amazing work Rainbow House does for the LGBTQ+ youth who need it,” he replies with a tilt of his head. “I do support Alec Lightwood, but those two things are mutually exclusive.”

Her lips tip up at the corner, and there is a glint in her eyes that remind Magnus at once –not that he had let himself forget– that she is a journalist. They all get the same look when they just thought of what they assume to be a particularly clever question. More often than not, Magnus is disappointed by the outcome. He hasn’t met many journalists who made talking to them challenging for reasons beyond the boredom or irritation they impose on him.

“Does that mean you’d be here if the event had been organized by Mr. Lightwood’s opponent?”

Magnus scoffs, and turns to her with a smirk. At least, she is bold, and that he can appreciate. “Well, let me know if Malachi Dieudonné suddenly has an epiphany and stops being a known homophobe. Maybe then I’ll consider going anywhere near him.”

“I take it you’re not a fan,” she prompts.

“Fan?” Magnus parrots, lifting an eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware politicians were supposed to have _fans_ rather than supporters.”

Gretel chuckles, shrugging in a somewhat resigned manner. “Well, I know a few blogs dedicated to Mr. Lightwood that could prove you wrong,” she responds lightheartedly. “There’s one about his eyebrows.”

Magnus’ mouth parts in surprise. “What?” he huffs out, certain the surprise is written plainly on his features. He quickly suppresses the urge to text Alec and tease him endlessly about it. That would definitely look suspicious. Plus, it will give him the element of surprise when he brings it up the next time he wants to see Alec’s cheeks color with that adorable flush of his for reasons that are not Magnus’ blunt innuendos or intimate promises.

Gretel nods in confirmation. “So, can you tell us why you support him?” she continues. “I’m sure it’s not for his eyebrows.”

The laugh that slips through his mouth takes Magnus by surprise but he welcomes it. Oh, he needs to tell Jace and Isabelle when they get there; they will never stop teasing Alec about it.

There are many reasons why Magnus supports Alec’s candidacy. He could tell her that he knows Alec intimately enough that he often has a front row to see him work himself to the bone for the sake of the people he has vowed to represent. He could tell her he knows his heart, and all the dreams and good intentions it encompasses. He could talk about Alec’s unique talent for listening, and his unfathomable stubbornness when it comes to fighting for what he believes in. He could tell her that he knows from personal experience that once Alec is given someone’s trust, he does everything in his power to respect it and do right by it.

Alec lives in the ugly world of politics, and perhaps those would be the words of an idealistic man, but Magnus has always been a dreamer, and he has always thought the world would be a better place if power was stowed for people with Alec’s values and high morals.

“Honestly?” he says, finding himself a little more of a dreamer at the prospect. “I think he’s a genuinely good man, who genuinely wants to do good. And that’s already reason enough for me.”

She opens her mouth to say more, but is interrupted by someone on the stage clearing their throat. As if on cue, Jace and Clary come rushing to the table, murmuring hellos and how are yous to Magnus as they take their seat. Magnus smiles politely at Gretel, but her almost mournful expression tells him she knows what he’s about to say before he does.

“I think you’ve got enough from me.”

Gretel nods, and bows her head in a silent thank you, walking away from him as the lights dim a little in the room so that all the attention is focused on the stage.

Isabelle joins them then, quickly followed by Helen, but they don’t talk to him, entirely fixated on the woman standing in front of the room that Magnus recognizes as Aline, Alec’s cousin. She looks fierce and determinate as she talks about Rainbow House, capturing the room’s attention as she goes over the people she wants to thank for tonight, but Magnus finds his eyes drifting to the side to Alec, who is waiting next to the stage for his turn. His fingers tap against his leg, following a cryptic rhythm foreign to anyone but him. Magnus knows it isn’t a nervous twitch but a routine Alec has learned to master over the years, an echo to the words Magnus can recall too well murmuring to him when speaking in front of an audience was more a source of stress than a matter of habit.

He used to be shy and hesitant, but he has always been persistent and Magnus remembers watching him make progress with every public performance he had helped him rehearse, up until there was no chance for a flaw or a loophole for his opponents to dive into. He remembers fondly the days Alec was still struggling to find his voice and the best way to express it, how he would mumble to himself over breakfast, how he would ask Magnus for advice in the middle of the night because he couldn’t speak at the prospect of an upcoming oral exam.

Speaking in public is like playing the piano, like feeling your fingers drift to a melody you know by heart, and yet go adrift in the pursuit of an unsung moment of grace. It takes practice and a hint of talent, precision and just the right amount of passion.

Alec is no stranger to those anymore.

More importantly, he has learned to roar.

.

The auction is long over and the room has started to slowly void itself from the numerous guests when Magnus finds Alec again, standing by the buffet, finally allowing himself a moment to eat and have a glass of champagne. His hair is more disheveled than it was at the beginning of the night, but he looks content, appeased by the clear success the event has been. There are still a few photographers and journalists around, although most of them are gone, so Magnus doesn’t hesitate too long before he lays a careful hand on Alec’s shoulder.

Alec blinks away from the hummus dish he was inspecting and turns to him, his face breaking into a tired but sincere smile that punches the air right out of Magnus’ lungs with disconcerting ease.

“That was one hell of a speech,” he says.

Alec shrugs. “Maia wrote most of it,” he responds. “I just delivered it.”

Deflection has always been the area where Alec excels the most, above politics and more intimate ones Magnus can pride himself in having experienced firsthand. He has always struggled to accept compliments, not even on the things he spent hours working on. Magnus wishes he would realize how utterly special he is, but he knows not to push.

“Well, I do remember you being considerably less skilled when it came to public speeches,” he says teasingly instead.

Alec snorts, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I took some private classes with an expert,” he retorts, and Magnus’ stomach flutters a little at the memory. He leans in just close enough that Magnus gets a whiff of his cologne, warm and sweet and unfairly enticing, his voice dropping to a murmur meant solely for his ears, “Very intense classes.”

Magnus can’t help the playful grin that takes over his features. “So I recall,” he responds. He reaches out to touch his elbow lightly, barely a brush of his fingers over Alec’s blazer, but there are times where he can’t help himself, the urge to touch Alec being stronger than his common sense and good will. Alec relaxes into him, just as imperceptible as Magnus himself, so he doesn’t let himself feel too wary about it. “You were great, Alexander. Truly. And you’ll make a great mayor.”

“The election is in nine months,” Alec reminds him, but he doesn’t sound as disapproving as he was certainly aiming for.

“And your point is?” Magnus retorts, quirking a dubious eyebrow.

Alec chuckles, shaking his head, and pops a piece of cucumber into his mouth. “My point is you’re biased and ridiculous.”

“And right,” Magnus concludes, leaving no room for negotiation. He lets his eyes drift over the room, his hand falling back to his side. He spots Helen chatting with Aline on the other side of the room. Even from the distance, he can see her deep brown eyes glimmering, and he smiles. “I’m going to head home,” he says, turning back to Alec, lowering his voice. “Paul Rudd?”

Alec nods, amusement glimmering in his eyes at the old joke turned codename for the relationship they have nowadays. “I just need an hour or so to finish up here.”

“I’m unsure if you mean the buffet or the event, but I won’t ask,” Magnus says jokingly, and Alec glares at him, but his eyes tell another story. “I’ll see you there then,” he adds, refusing to allow him the time to respond. Magnus has learned over the years that getting into a battle of wit with a politician isn’t such an easy feat, even for someone who made declaiming words his job.

“Bye, Mr. Bane,” Alec says, but Magnus is already walking away, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

He goes to say goodbye to Helen and Aline, waves at Maia and Maryse who are sitting at a table with the auctioneer, and hops into one of the many cars still queueing outside.

The night is dark and cold, but Magnus feels anything but.

.

Alec awakes to the steady pattern of rain clattering against the window, like a natural lullaby guiding him back to sleep. He rolls into the bed and reaches out for Magnus, but his hand hits the mattress instead and he forces his eyes open. Sighing, he sits up and stretches, groaning in relief when his spine pops.

He slips out of bed, grabs a t-shirt from the drawer where Magnus keeps the various items of clothing Alec has left at his place throughout the years and moves through the loft to the kitchen, slipping it over his head. Chairman Meow, Magnus’ cat, is rubbing against his leg as soon as Alec is out of the bedroom and he picks him up with a smile, scratching between his ears when the cat bumps his head against Alec’s chin in greeting.

He hears Magnus talking in the kitchen, and Alec moves toward the voice, expecting to find him on the phone, or reading one of his scripts –he likes to do it out loud, says it helps him memorize them, but Alec suspects he just gauges the Chairman’s reactions to adapt his acting accordingly.

Magnus is doing neither of these things, however. Alec freezes in the threshold of the kitchen, blinking in shock at the sight of Helen and Maia sitting at the counter, both nursing fuming mugs of coffee while Magnus leans against the opposite wall with one of his own, brows furrowed and lips pinched.

Helen and Maia know about the arrangement he and Magnus settled for three years prior –they are the only ones who do, along with Simon, Ragnor and Catarina– but they never really mention it, or only to fondly tease them about it and to each of them individually, never when they are together. Not that they would have much occasion to do so seeing as Alec and Magnus never really spend time together outside of their respective apartments. Even more importantly, they respect their privacy and they would never show up at Magnus’ on a Sunday morning while fully knowing that Alec would be there unless something happened.

Alec gulps, his body straining leisurely as the silence keeps stretching unrelentlessly.

“What’s going on?” he asks, tucking the cat securely against his chest as if it could protect him from the bad news he can feel coming.

The Chairman purrs loudly. “I still don’t get it,” Magnus scoffs, “you’re the only one who can carry him around without him trying to claw your face off.”

“He loves me too much to do that to me,” Alec replies as he plants a kiss to the cat’s head, the lighthearted tone managing to let some of the tension in his shoulders simmer down. If it were as grave as Alec let his mind imagine it was, Magnus would have skipped the formalities and gone straight to the point.

“Here,” Maia says, her tone far too formal for a situation where Alec just woke up and was caught off guard in his ex-boyfriend’s kitchen, wearing nothing but boxers and a t-shirt that probably shouldn’t be here in the first place. She is holding out an iPad to him, and Alec lets the cat leap out of his arms to grab it, scowling.

It’s open on an article from the DBC website, promising exclusive pictures of the night before. Alec scrolls down silently, but nothing he sees there seems to be cause for concern. There are a few pictures of him and Magnus, some being from their talk at the end of the night. He stops on one of them: Magnus is touching his elbow, and Alec is leaning forward to talk to him, but it is overall pretty innocent.

He glances back up at Maia, lifting an eyebrow in inquiry. “I don’t understand.”

Helen clears her throat, and hands him another iPad, and Alec’s frown deepens as he takes it. This page is open on Twitter, and Alec quickly scans it, dread slowly seeping through his veins. He scrolls down quickly, his eyes widening more with every tweet. They all contain the same picture of him and Magnus, the one he deemed innocent just a moment ago.

“What the fuck?” he mutters under his breath. His brain is still foggy from sleep, and he isn’t sure he can make sense of what is truly going on without two cups of coffee.

As he often does, Magnus must sense it because he hands him a fuming mug. Alec takes it with a grateful smile.

“They released the photos late last night,” Maia eventually explains. “Gretel Monroe wrote a short piece about the charity auction, a prelude to her longer paper that’s supposed to come out this week. Twitter seemed to miss all of that though, because now everyone is speculating on the nature of you two’s relationship because Magnus touched your fucking elbow.”

“God forbid two queer men touch each other unless they’re fucking,” Magnus grumbles with irritation, jaw clenching.

“Well,” Helen simply replies, trailing off with a flourish of her hand, gesturing vaguely between the two of them. Magnus glares at her, and she raises her hands in surrender. “I’m not saying it’s right,” she huffs out. “I’m just saying you _are_ fucking each other.”

Alec pinches the bridge of his nose, heaving out a deep sigh. “Okay, let’s stop talking about Magnus and I and fucking for a second. What exactly is happening?”

“You and Magnus are trending,” Maia eludes. “So far, there’s around ten thousand tweets about you, most of them coming from Magnus’ fans, and it keeps growing. There’s no press article yet but it’s certainly on its way.”

“Fuck,” Alec sighs, dropping in a stool as he leans on the counter, taking a moment to read a few extracts.

 

_All I’m saying is this doesn’t look like a ‘we’ve just met and he spontaneously decided to support my campaign’ interaction, that’s all._

“I like this one,” Magnus interjects. His tone is light, an obvious attempt at soothing the tension in the room, and Alec takes it for what it is. He clears his throat before he reads from his phone: “Alec Lightwood can like… get it. And I don’t mean just my vote.”

“Oh my god,” Alec mutters, cheeks flushing from embarrassment.

His eyes drop back to the iPad, carefully avoiding the gazes of his friends.

_Magnus deserves all the best things, and from what people who are actually interested in politics have been telling me, he apparently deserves Alec Lightwood._

_I don’t know this Alec Lightwood everyone is talking about but he seems very interested in Magnus, so at least I know he’s one of those rare politicians with common sense._

Alec knows he should drop the iPad, stop reading and ask them how to handle this whole situation, but he feels himself compelled to read more beyond his own control, the vicious spiral of social media and morbid curiosity drawing him in.

_Imagine stanning a politician. Can’t relate... she said foolishly, before seeing a picture of Magnus very clearly stanning one._

_Magnus is literally just touching the dude’s elbow, you all need to chill…… Oh wait, there’s one where they’re smiling at each other, I changed my mind. I ship it._

It’s an endless flow of the same kind of tweets. Some of them don’t even seem to know who Alec is –which isn’t so surprising, Magnus’ world and his own don’t usually collide, and Alec has only started to get some international attention from the press when he was chosen to run for the Democrats in New York. Others don’t make sense at all, and Alec takes a mental note to ask Simon for a crash course on internet slang the next time he sees him. There are, thankfully, some hints of sanity in this whole chaos. If he can call it that.

_Alec Lightwood: *organizes a whole auction for a charity supporting LGBT+ kids, refuses to take credit for it in his speech and praises the people from the association instead, is genuinely a good person*_

_y’all: omg is he fucking Magnus Bane?!!!1???1!?!?!_

This one is supposed to be positive, he thinks. It’s hard to tell when people on Twitter seem to make it a purpose to sound passive-aggressive most of the time. It has the benefit of finally prompting him to put the device aside and look back up.

He inhales deeply, shares a quick glance with Magnus, who gives him a tentative smile that Alec can’t help but send back, and turns to Maia and Helen.

“What do we do?” He hears the gravity in his own voice.

“Nothing,” Helen says firmly.

Alec feels the surprise register on his face before he can hide it, and Maia nods in confirmation. “Even for the public and Magnus’ overzealous fans, to go from a hand on a shoulder and shared smiles to a sexual arrangement is a bit of a jump to make,” she eludes.

“So we ignore it,” Helen continues, “and it will die down in a couple of weeks at most. It always does.”

Alec takes a moment to digest it, to wrap his mind around the fact that they are talking about his somewhat unconventional relationship with Magnus as if it were another element to the carefully planned strategy they established for his campaign. This is exactly why he never wanted it to be exposed, especially not when he’s in the midst of courting the public opinion for their votes. He is well aware that the general sentiment over LGBT relationships have shifted considerably in the past decade, but Alec isn’t an actor like Magnus or a singer like Simon, and openly introducing a partner in his life would have very different implications for him than it does for them.

“Okay,” he says eventually.

Magnus clears his throat, and turns to Maia and Helen with a benevolent smile. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I think Alexander and I should talk about this.”

“In private,” Alec agrees, relieved, if he can call it that, to know he and Magnus are at least on the same page on the privacy they should be allowed to have when it comes to this.

Helen and Maia share a meaningful look, one he wishes he could understand more so than he does, but quickly gather their stuff.

He and Magnus walk them out and Alec turns to Helen as he helps her slip her coat on. “While you’re here, I wanted to remind you to send me that copy of Magnus’ newest movie,” he says, not unkindly. She did swear to him she would when he texted her about it, but he supposes she is quite busy and that is the kind of request that doesn’t make it to her priority list.

“Try to make my job easier and I promise I will,” she retorts, turning around to face him with a smirk on her face, wrapping a thick wool scarf around her neck.

Alec chuckles and nods in approval, although he thinks she can see plainly that he is more amused than concerned.

“Or you could get me your cousin’s phone number and I’ll make sure you have that copy on your desk in the next hour,” she says in an offhand, nonchalant tone that fools exactly no one. Alec would miss the nervosity in her tone if it wasn’t for the way she rolls back on her heels and chews on her bottom lip.

“Aline?” She nods, and Alec smiles. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Her cheeks are a little flushed and she quickly hugs him, and she and Maia leave a moment later, promising to update them on any further development.

As soon as the sound of the front door closing echoes to his ears, Alec walks back to the kitchen and slouches on a stool, running a hand in his hair as he exhales deeply.

“Are you okay?” he asks Magnus, for this is what matters first and foremost.

Magnus smiles something so incredibly fond that it makes Alec’s stomach lurch almost painfully. “I am,” he says. “Are you?”

Alec nods silently, although he knows he is glaring quite adamantly at Magnus’ phone laying on the counter.

“I haven’t looked at my phone yet, but I am expecting to find some pretty colorful texts from my family when I do.”

Magnus scoffs out a quiet laugh, but he can’t deny it. He knows how close Alec is to his family, and although they’ve always respected his privacy, he must also know that they have been rooting for them to get back together – _actually_ get back together– for as long as they’ve known they were in contact again. Alec feels drained just picturing Izzy’s interrogation and Jace’s self-satisfied smirks.

“You heard them,” Magnus tells him, pointing to where Maia and Helen were sitting just moments ago, “it will die down fairly quickly. It’s not the first time I’ve been rumored to date someone. Remember when they thought I was dating Simon because he posted a picture of us on Instagram at Jace and Clary’s wedding? I never heard that one again.”

Alec snorts. “You and Simon... That was really funny.” It had been particularly amusing because Simon and Magnus had posed for that picture about half an hour after Magnus and Alec had slipped away for a quickie in the gigantic bathroom of the venue that hosted the party. Alec had teased him relentless about it the next day when they laid in bed, until Magnus had enough of it and had kicked him out of the bed. Crawling back in, Alec had been more than happy to make it up to him. The memory brings a smile to his lips, but it quickly vanishes when the reality of the situation catches back on him. “But there was no ground to it,” he adds, sending him a grave look. “You and I… it’s a different story.”

“You and I know that,” Magnus replies. “Twitter doesn’t, thank goodness.”

“Yeah,” Alec murmurs, trailing off, his eyes drifting into nothingness.

They are a different story. And perhaps their uniqueness is their salvation, because he can’t imagine anyone truly figuring out what they are. Alec often doesn’t know himself.

They dated in college, they fell in love, they shared a beautiful love story that makes him dwell on nostalgia more often than he would like, and then they broke up, and met again years later, and made a sexual arrangement that doesn’t always feel like one. He knows this isn’t how these relationships are meant to be, he knows it means more, it feels more, but they wallow into that for now, because it is all they can have. Or perhaps this is only the way he sees it, perhaps Magnus’ feelings for him are truly a matter of the past, and it is so utterly different for him, but Alec isn’t sure he ever wants to know if it is. He isn’t sure he ever wants to live in a reality where Magnus feels nothing towards him but friendship, casual indifference and enough desire to pursue the physical relationship they’ve sustained for the past years.

Still, no matter what it is, he doesn’t think anyone, as observant as they could be, can point it out for what it is. Magnus is used to seeing his name in the tabloid press and has learned to forgo it completely. Alec isn’t, and he would rather have his name in the New York Times, connected to the policies he exhausts himself in implementing in his community and further. He knows Magnus would like it better that way too, if only that kind of press would forget about him altogether and leave his private life to be just that; private, but Magnus doesn’t have the luxury of a choice when it comes to these things.

Alec is drawn out of his thoughts by Magnus crossing the distance between them, tilting his head to catch his eyes.

“We talked about this, Alexander,” he murmurs, as if speaking any louder would compromise the fragile peace they’ve found in the midst of this storm. “If our… arrangement jeopardizes your career or mine…”

Magnus doesn’t finish his sentence, and Alec doesn’t want him to. He wants to stay in this realm of possibilities he’s fooled himself into believing.

He knows what they’ve talked about. Ending this before it could take over all the parts of their lives they want to protect. Magnus doesn’t want to be a token boyfriend to a rising politician, and Alec can’t give up on his career to make sure his actions and inevitable mess ups don’t tarnish the opportunities Magnus has fought so hard to obtain.

He’s always possessed passion and rationality alike, but the reason he is good at what he does is that he never lets the former overcome the latter. Even when it comes to his own heart’s desire.

Magnus runs a thumb over Alec’s eyebrow. There is sadness in the edge of his smile as if he knows, like Alec does himself, that they just doomed themselves to an end.

“You do have great eyebrows,” he murmurs.

Alec frowns, confused. “What?”

Magnus chuckles but doesn’t reply, wrapping an arm around Alec’s shoulders instead, and propping his head to press a kiss at his temple. Alec shuts his eyes and leans into the touch, savoring the feel of Magnus’ strong body against his own. He slips a hand under Magnus’ robe, stroking the sensitive skin at the bottom of his spine.

“It’s your day off, right?”

Alec hums in agreement.

“And I’m going back to LA tomorrow,” Magnus continues, slipping a hand under the collar of Alec’s t-shirt to stroke the naked skin there. “I have a script to read but it can wait until I’m on the plane. What do you say we make the most of it?”

Alec turns the stool to the side to face Magnus, locks his legs around his hips to tug him against his chest with a smirk. He grabs Magnus’ other hand from where it sits on his shoulder and presses a kiss against his palm, soft and intimate. “Sounds like a plan.”

Magnus’ grin dies on Alec’s lips, and for a moment, and for a day, he pushes away his fears and his doubts. All that remains is Magnus, and the secrets that belong to them, ushered away effortlessly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter, let me know what you thought :).  
> You know where to find me.
> 
> Next time: the call.
> 
> See y'all on Wednesday for the next chapter.
> 
> All the love,  
> Lu.


	4. The call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A song, a late visit and a deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello cupcakes,
> 
> If you choose to live-tweet this first chapter, please use the hashtag #lecrit so I can follow your reactions!
> 
> Happy reading!

**BOSTON, MAY 2011.**

Magnus has seen many ugly break ups, has lived some himself. He has watched people falling out of love, witnessed relationships turn from happy to ill to the core. He has seen cheaters, liars, friends rather than lovers and people who just were not meant to be together.

He has seen couples love each other solely for their strengths and give up in tormented times. He has seen better halves isolated, overshadowed, outshined.

He has been destroyed by break ups before, felt like less than he was, but he’s never been the instigator of his own broken heart, at least not as directly as it feels now.

He doesn’t think graduation is usually meant to feel so bittersweet but it can only be in these circumstances.

 _It’s your moment of truth,_ the dean said. _Your first step into the real world._

The real world doesn’t seem so appealing when it means Magnus has to leave a piece of his heart behind. The ceremony passed like a blur. Magnus remembers stepping into the bright lights, shaking an outstretched hand and grabbing a piece of paper that is meant to remind him that he actually accomplished something during his time at Harvard.

He remembers winking at Alec sitting in the crowd, his own diploma freshly acquired the day before, and feeling oddly exposed at the look of utter pride on his boyfriend’s features. He had been standing next to Magnus’ father, whose reaction had been one of calculated composure, not that it was surprising in any way. Magnus had chuckled under his breath when Alec, beaming, had leaned towards Asmodeus and said something the distance prevented him to hear. Asmodeus had rolled his eyes, but flashed Magnus a quick smile nonetheless.

Sometimes, Magnus looks at Alec and thinks he was nothing but a damn fool when he fell for this man.

In many ways, Alec changed the way Magnus sees the world, and that is both a blessing and a curse. He doesn’t remember exactly when his heart ran away from him, chasing after the one that would inevitably break it, but he followed without much of a fight. He fell in love with Alec slowly. Hopelessly.

Magnus hates himself for it, because it is ending tonight, and no matter how much they’ve talked about it, he hasn’t truly prepared himself for it.

He was meant to party, and although he isn’t usually one to say no to getting drunk and dancing to his heart’s content all night, especially when there is something to celebrate, he couldn’t find it in himself tonight. He said goodbye to his friends, had dinner with his father who flew from Nevada for his graduation ceremony and then pretended that he needed to pack to find an excuse to escape for a while. He knows his father didn’t believe him, but he let him go without a word, telling him he would pick him up in the morning to get on their way to the airport.

The campus is almost deserted at this time of the night, but Magnus knows it is mostly because of the celebrations going on all around town. He’s been here for five years, and no matter how late he came home after a night out, he’s rarely seen it as bereft of life. Perhaps it says something in itself, and something about Magnus too.

He makes it to their apartment complex across campus fairly quickly, and heads right to the place he’s come to call home throughout the years. Catarina, his roommate, has already left for New York where she found a job in a hospital, and the apartment has been devoid of her stuff for over a week now. Magnus hates it, sometimes seethes to himself about how New York seems to be adamant in taking away from him the people he loves, but he knows it is a part of it. Of stepping into the real world.

He is about to unlock the front door when he hears it. The notes swim through his mind like a wakeful dream, and Magnus stills in his steps, his breath hitching in his throat.

The music fills his ears, and he becomes oblivious to the world outside as he lets go of the door knob and crosses the corridor to the apartment on the other side. He shuffles a moment with his keys to get the right one and opens the door. The melody gets immediately louder, and Magnus lets it give him the strength he needs to move forward.

It isn’t the majestic piano the music room offered them for countless nights where Magnus watched Alec, sometimes with Simon, lose himself to the music, but he bought the electric piano for Alec on the anniversary of their first kiss two years ago and he knows Alec cares about it a lot.

Magnus recognizes _Wouldn’t It Be Nice_ by the Beach Boys mainly because he has heard it too many times before. He knows it is what Alec plays when he feels sad, which should be ironic considering the upbeat feeling the original song conveys, but there is something genuinely haunting about the slowed down version Alec renders, as if he had ripped it from its essence and kept of it only the eerie, deeper meaning of the lyrics. As much as Magnus hates the mere idea of Alec feeling this way, he can’t really blame him for it when he feels like his whole world is crumbling between his helpless fingers.

With a sigh, Magnus crosses the distance between them slowly, and wraps his arms around Alec’s shoulders. Alec relaxes at once under his touch, and it’s only then that he realizes how tense he was. Magnus knows this tension by heart, what it means and what can follow it. He clenches his teeth, urging himself to find the inner strength to bring Alec some sort of comfort.

“I thought you were having dinner with your family,” he murmurs, burying his nose in Alec’s neck and inhaling deeply.

“I thought you were having dinner with your dad,” Alec retorts matter-of-factly, his voice so quiet it doesn’t even rise above the music.

Magnus nuzzles against his throat, presses a kiss against his pulse point, and pulls out, laying his chin on the top of Alec’s head as he watches him play. “I didn’t have much of an  appetite.”

“Me neither,” Alec admits, voice rough. He makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat when he misses a note, and takes his hands off the keyboard altogether, heaving out a deep breath. His hands are shaking, and he closes them into tight fists, his knuckles blanching with the strain. “Fuck.”

When they talked the night before, knowing it would be one of their last ones together, they promised each other they would love again. That they wouldn’t let the pain of their separation make fear overcome everything else.

Magnus has seen it before: love becoming pain, pain becoming fear, fear becoming hatred, and so on in an endless vicious circle of bitterness and regrets. Maybe that’s the way things go, maybe they are meant to love, and to lose, and to erect walls until they meet the next person who tries hard enough to see past them.

Sometimes, Magnus wishes they would have fallen out of love. He wishes they would look at each other like strangers who have nothing left in common but some slither of the affection they once shared.

But Alec didn’t see past the walls. Alec dismantled them brick by brick with the kindness of his eyes, and the honesty of his words, with the purity of his love and the passion of his soul.

And there is something scary about that, scarier even than the idea of parting from him to follow his dream. Magnus doesn’t know what will happen to him in Los Angeles. Perhaps he is making a huge mistake, and he will end up being one of those waiters who forever stay wannabe actors and talk about that one ad they managed to score. No matter what happens to him, however, he knows Alec will thrive in New York. This is his city, where he was born and raised and ingrained with the political seed by his socialite parents. Magnus doubts many things but never that Alec is predestined to great achievements. He needs to do so in a city that fits the grandeur of his character, and New York fits the bill.

As for Magnus, that agent who came to see his last play with the theater club told him he will find the best opportunities he can in Los Angeles, and that he would be happy to take him as a client if he moved there. It was an odd night, because when he told Alec about it, they were both hesitating between glee and sorrow; they already knew what it meant for their future. So here they are, almost done and yet never ready to be.

“Come on,” Alec murmurs, grabbing Magnus’ hand on his shoulder to press a kiss into his palm. “Let’s go to bed. You leave early tomorrow.”

Magnus nods, tangles his fingers with Alec’s, and follows him to the bedroom he has learned to know as well as his own throughout the years. One last time.

He kisses Alec in the threshold of the room, swallowing the intake of breath he releases against Magnus’ lips. They make love, slow and gentle, and then rough and desperate, and they hold each other through the aftermath with grips tight enough Magnus wonders if they are purposely trying to leave another indelible mark in each other’s skin. If Alec notices the tears Magnus spills against his neck, he doesn’t say anything about it. In return, Magnus doesn’t say anything about the way Alec sniffs quietly, skimming airy kisses against his temple.

He will leave for Los Angeles in the morning and he will pursue his dreams. He will become an actor, make of his art a job, of his passion a career.

He will be true to his word, maybe to one unique exception.

Truth is, Magnus doesn’t want to love again, despite his promises. He doesn’t want to be patient and wait until he finds a love like this one again.

He doesn’t want to walk down a path that Alec can’t follow.

And yet he is. And yet he will.

.

**NEW YORK, APRIL 2017.**

Through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of his office, Alec can see the people sauntering around Main Street, and the employees of the Starbucks down the street laughing as they clean up after a long day. He can’t hear them, the noise muffled by the TV in his office eternally set on the news channel, the reporter detailing Dieudonné’s power move of the day that consisted in discrediting Alec to the journalists who followed him to the site of the affordable housing project Alec contributed in implementing in Long Island by saying he was probably too busy worrying about his private life to come and check that everything was running smoothly. It’s complete and utter bullshit, one because Alec has a visit planned there in two weeks and because he has been following every step of the project from its very beginning. Malachi knows that, of course, but it’s much easier for him to gain votes by defaming and lying than by the brilliance of his own ideas. Sadly, it’s a strategy that is proving itself to be hard for them to deconstruct when the media has been more focused on his alleged relationship with Magnus for the last few weeks.

With a sigh, he rises from his chair and walks to the coffee maker, pouring himself a cup. It’s  been an exhausting week, and it isn’t over yet, so Alec relies on coffee to be his saving grace and push him through the next month until he’ll finally take a break from his campaign for some time with his family.

He still has plenty to do before then, but he keeps the thought of their annual trip to Seaside in a corner of his mind for when it gets a little bit too much. It’s usually a peaceful week made of sunbathing, drinking cocktails that are too sweet for his taste, and going to the beach where Isabelle inevitably tries to drown him and then complains when Alec retaliates. It’s a bliss, and Alec is looking forward to it more than ever. He needs some quiet time with his family, if only for a week, away from the low jibes of his opponents and the restless zeal of his supporters.

He leans back into his chair and takes a sip of his coffee, sighing in content. He knows his family hates the idea of him sometimes – _often,_ Izzy’s voice quips in his head– working so late, but this is Alec’s favorite time to work, when his campaign headquarters are mostly deserted and he can revel in the solitude of his office he often craves when the day has him dealing with the never-ending pile of problems people keep bringing up to him.

It’s almost midnight. Maia has gone home and taken a good amount of Alec’s workload as she did despite his protests. She often has to remind him that he is allowed to delegate, and that this is exactly why he asked her to be his campaign manager. Alec is a stubborn man, and he needed someone equally as stubborn to work with him and challenge him every day. Challenging, strong-headed and tempestuous is all their friendship has been from the very beginning in Boston, and Alec wouldn’t have it any other way. People tend to cower and refrain from speaking up around people in positions of power like Alec is, and he has seen many of his colleagues lose themselves to their own ego for lack of a honest entourage that could advise and support them but also call them out when necessary. Frankly, Alec doesn’t know where he would be without Maia, and if he is elected in November, he knows she will be the best first deputy mayor this city has ever seen.

“I know for a fact that your mother got you a very expensive watch for your birthday, so I’m sure that’s not your excuse for still being here,” a voice calls teasingly from the door.

Alec snorts, and tears his gaze away from the busy street and his mind from his meandering thoughts to face his stepfather with a smile.

Luke isn’t in his full uniform, but Alec knows there is only one reason for him to be here so late and not at home with his mother.

“Just finished your shift?” he asks.

Luke nods, and walks into the office, taking a rapid look over it as if he could find signs of Alec being unhealthy and scold him for it. Alec had a salad for dinner and he even took an hour break to run on the treadmill, so he thinks he’s good to pass Luke’s little investigation. He used that hour to discuss security and finances with Underhill, but Luke doesn’t need to know that.

It has been a bit of a routine ever since Alec’s team moved in this office a few months ago. It’s only ten minutes away from the precinct Luke is in charge of, and when he has to work the nights, he always stops by the headquarters on his way back to make sure Alec has eaten and that he isn’t working himself to the bone.

Alec always is, of course, but Luke has learned to tolerate his workaholic habits.

“How long do you have left?” he asks as he eyes Alec’s coffee suspiciously. “I can give you a ride back to your place.”

Alec shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it,” he says. “Underhill is still working on the security planning for my events next week and he’ll give me a ride when we’re done.”

Luke rolls his eyes, but Alec is distracted from the sight by a new email popping up on his screen. He shrugs innocently in response and clicks on the email to open it.

It’s from Maia, and to it is attached a YouTube link and a simple sentence: _Sometimes I wonder if Magnus shouldn’t be going into politics. He handled this like a boss._

 _Like everything he does,_ Alec wants to reply. He has no idea what this is about, but he knows he doesn’t want to wait to watch it. It’s kind of ridiculous, considering he only saw Magnus a few weeks ago but Alec would rather not ponder on the reasons behind his eagerness.

That must show on his features because when he turns his head back to Luke, he sighs before Alec can get a word out.

“Don’t bother, I know that face,” he says defeatedly. “I’ll let you work. But I’m gonna go see Underhill on my way out and tell him that if you’re still here by 2, I will personally kick his ass, and then yours.”

Alec chuckles, waving Luke off offhandedly.

“And then I’ll let your mother take care of the two of you.”

Alec’s mirth dies on his lips and twists into a cringe. He deals with sharks and wolves on a daily basis, but his mother is something else entirely, and he works probably harder than he should at his age to avoid her ire. Maryse Lightwood is scary, though, especially when it comes to what she thinks is best for her children, and he wouldn’t put it past her to indeed kick both Underhill’s and his ass if word came to her that Alec is working himself into the ground. He wouldn’t find lasagna in his fridge then, but sly, threatening notes instead.

“Fine,” he grumbles. “I promise I’ll just finish this and go home.”

“Good,” Luke says with a quick nod, sounding just as proud of himself as he looks. “Good night, Alec.”

“G’night, Luke,” Alec replies, and waits until the door is closed to click the video open.

The video starts with obnoxious laughter, because Maia, as always, made things easier for him and timed it perfectly so he doesn’t have to watch the whole show.

His gaze is instantly drawn to Magnus, who is sprawled elegantly on a chair in front of his host, all cat-like moves and sturdy muscles accentuated by his blood-red shirt. Forcing himself to focus, Alec recognizes Dorothea Rollins, and her benevolent smile that charmed the nation and has a unique ability to beguile her guests into telling her the most intimate details of their life without a second thought. Magnus isn’t so easily fooled though, especially when it comes to his privacy, and Alec is quite aware that he goes on her show mostly because _‘they always have the best champagne, Alexander._ ’ Alec knows it also has to do with the fact that Dorothea was among those who spoke up to publicly condemn the media that feasted on him being outed two years ago, although Magnus would never admit it. Magnus isn’t one to hold grudges for himself, but he has an impeccable memory when it comes to the people who either treated poorly or well the ones he cares for, and he either punishes or rewards them accordingly.

“So, you’ve been spending more and more time in New York,” Dorothea says, clearly moving on from a conversation Alec has missed. “So much so that you are now back to being a resident of New York, right?”

Magnus nods, smiling. “Yes, but I still spend a good portion of the year here in LA.”

“Where do you live when you’re not shooting?”

“Mostly New York,” Magnus replies.

“Is there a reason in particular?” Dorothea asks, a hint of mischief glimmering in her eyes, and Alec understands what she is doing at once.

Magnus seems to come to the same conclusion because he straightens up gingerly in his chair and leans back. He does it naturally, but Alec knows him too well not to pick up on the subtle signs of anticipation he displays. “I have very good friends over there,” he eludes.

“Good friends, huh?” she says with a chuckle. A picture flashes in the screen behind them, and Alec isn’t mildly surprised to recognize them at the gala a few weeks prior. This is the one where Magnus is touching his elbow, Alec leaning towards him with a smile on his face.

Magnus takes a look at the screen and turns back to Dorothea, his face a complete mask of impassivity.

“People have been wondering about the nature of your relationship with Alec Lightwood,” she continues when she can’t prompt from him the answer she was hoping for.

Magnus shrugs dismissively. “Oh, we’re just friends,” he says casually, and for a moment, Alec himself almost believes him. It tears at his heartstrings, but when he shuts his eyes for a moment, he remembers the feeling of Magnus’ naked skin beneath his exploring fingers, the way his lips can make Alec feel worshiped and breakable, like something precious and rare, and he lets himself believe that Magnus’ words are a lie. Alec curses himself inwardly, focusing back on the video. “People need to stop thinking I date everyone I talk to because they’re gonna get me in trouble one of these days. For the record, I’m doing a movie with your fiancé, Alaric Rodriguez, soon and if we get photographed without our knowledge and it comes out in the press, I promise I’m not trying to steal him from you.”

The audience laughs boisterously, and Dorothea with them. The hint of a smirk ghosts on Magnus’ lips.

“So, I take it you two are not dating?” she asks, already resigned.

“No, we are not,” Magnus answers clearly.

Maia is right: Magnus would have made a great politician, and not because he knows how to lie, but because he knows how to tell only a part of the truth and make it sound wholesome.

He isn’t lying, after all. They are not dating, and Dorothea didn’t say anything about the past. And how could they know about the history he and Magnus share? They weren’t famous back then; there was no one to pry on their lives and scrutinize their every interaction. They were just young, and in love, and it was beautiful and absolute, and then it ended. Those days are gone, and they are something else now, something that has no business being in the front pages of tabloid magazines. Magnus has always avoided those as much as possible, but with his status, it is bound to happen every now and then. He’ll get photographed, and people will find horrible or ridiculously flattering things to say to justify their complete disdain toward his privacy.

“Alright,” she says, “you know I had to ask, it’s my job.”

Magnus’ smile is something lethal, and just minutely disappointed. “I thought your job was to make me talk about my new movie,” he says, with a lighthearted tone that manages to mask the true jibe his words are. The audience laughs, oblivious.

“Of course!” Dorothea exclaims cheerfully. “Back to that. Upfront Payment is coming out–”

Alec tunes off then. He already knows everything there is to know about Magnus’ new movie, having heard all about it months ago, laying in bed with him close enough to witness the glimmer in his eyes translating his excitement for this whole project. He watched the movie almost a month ago, thanks to Helen sending him a copy seeing as Aline was more than eager to let Alec share her phone number with Magnus’ agent, and he loved it, which didn’t come as a surprise. Alec has yet to find a movie where Magnus stars, even in the smallest of role, that he wasn’t captivated by. He thinks it might have to do with personal bias, or so Magnus would tell him, but Alec really doesn’t care if it does.

With a sigh, Alec grabs his phone, opening his thread with Magnus.

 _You handled that better than I could have_ , he types. _Maia is ready to ditch me to have you running for mayor instead._

He tries to focus back on his flashcards for the visit he has scheduled tomorrow as he awaits a reply, but his gaze keeps drifting back to his phone. It’s probably why he is embarrassingly quick to answer when his phone rings with a new call instead of a text a moment later, Magnus’ name flashing on the screen.

“Hey,” he says, clearing his throat awkwardly.

“What the fuck are you still doing up?” Magnus blurts out in lieu of a greeting. His voice is loud, forcing Alec to move the device away from his ear for a second. Even then, Alec can barely hear him over the brouhaha going on behind him.

“Where are you?” Alec replies.

“Give me a sec,” Magnus says. Alec listens to the chattering on the other side of the line for a moment, hears Magnus greeting people and excusing himself every two words. Finally, the noise dies down, and Magnus’ voice is back, slightly slurred. “Sorry about that,” he mumbles, voice light and cheerful. Magnus is clearly tipsy, if not drunk, and the thought makes Alec snort in amusement. “I didn’t think you’d pick up, I didn’t think this through. In fact, I just saw your text and was like ‘wow I haven’t talked to Alexander in so long, I guess he doesn’t know that Maia indeed ditched him to have me run for mayor instead’ so I called you. Sorry, darling. Better luck next time. I’ll make it up to you.” He pauses for a moment, and then sighs heavily. “You can’t see me but I’m winking suggestively at you.”

Alec guffaws. “Been celebrating our new movie coming out, have we?” he says teasingly.

He can almost picture Magnus rolling his eyes. “Shut up,” he retorts. “Why are you still up?”

Alec lets his gaze rake over his office, the budget he still has to look over sitting on the couch, the notes and recommendations from the party he has to go over waiting for him. Sometimes, he wishes he didn’t love what he does, just so he could have an excuse to be there instead of here. Things would probably be very different then.

“I’m just chilling at home,” he lies. He has enough of his family worrying about him without concerning Magnus too. “Just watched your appearance on Dorothea’s.”

Magnus hums. “So, if I were to ask you to send me a picture of yourself right now, you’d be on your couch –preferably shirtless– and not still in your office working extra hours?”

Sometimes, Alec hates how well Magnus knows him, although there are times where his knowledge comes in handy. In all possible meanings of term.

“Ugh, fine,” Alec grumbles.

“For the shirtless picture?” Magnus murmurs lewdly, the smirk evident in his voice.

Alec laughs, relaxing in his chair as he stares at the ceiling, imagining what Magnus looks like tonight, out in the streets of Los Angeles. He pictures him wearing dark colors and just the right amount of jewelry to be gracefully extravagant but not tacky, and a silky shirt that he probably unbuttoned down to his pecs because he always gets irrationally warm when he has had one too many. Whether his imagination is accurate or not, Alec knows Magnus must be looking as gorgeous as ever. “I am in my office,” he replies, almost disappointed himself. “Alone and wearing clothes.”

Magnus heaves out a dramatic sigh. “I knew it. That’s just unacceptable,” he mutters. “I’m also alone and wearing clothes. We live sad lives, Lightwood.”

“You’re at a party, Bane,” Alec replies, deadpan, if only because Magnus can’t see the soft smile on his lips. “You’re not alone.”

Magnus huffs. “Keep your logic to yourself. I’m trying to get you to send me a shirtless picture!”

Alec’s laughter is loud enough to surprise even himself. It carries outside the room, and he is somewhat relieved to be almost alone now. Underhill never bothers him unless Alec calls him, so he knows he doesn’t have to worry about anyone prying into the reasons why he seems to be having a great time locked into his office at midnight.

“I think that’d be harder to explain than you touching my elbow if your phone gets hacked,” he reasons.

“Yeah, I know,” Magnus says. His voice is soft now, so low Alec barely hears him. “I just wanted to hear you laugh.”

Alec’s breath hitches in his throat, his stomach lurching. He shuts his eyes again, urging away the heat he can feel growing on his face. He supposes he should go to sleep, really. The only moment he allows himself to truly let his thoughts be permeated by Magnus is right then, right before he slips over the edge and falls into a dreamless sleep. During the days, he tries to avoid it, or it would be real outside the intangible realm he has created in his own mind. It is the only way he has found to be able to compartmentalize everything so that he doesn’t let the reality of their situation overwhelm him, or his professional life.

“Alexander? Are you still there?”

Alec clears his throat, and sinks further into his chair, running a hand in his hair. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m here.”

“Go home, darling,” Magnus says softly. “You won’t be of any help to anyone if you’re sleepwalking tomorrow.”

Alec nods to himself, certain Magnus can picture it as clearly as he can picture Magnus’ expressions too, and pinches the bridge of his nose with a sigh. “Will you be back before I leave for the family holiday?”

“I’m here three days next week before I have to fly to Europe for a month of promotion,” Magnus says. “I’ll get my shirtless picture with your polaroid then. No one will hack that.”

Alec chuckles, shaking his head. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours?”

Magnus all but giggles, and the sounds makes Alec’s smile grow wider. “Deal. Bye, Alexander.”

“Bye, Magnus. See you next week.”

He hangs up, and Alec sighs, staring at the ceiling with insistence as if it could provide the answers he needs.

His contemplation doesn’t bring any answer at all, and Alec finally accepts he won’t be productive for the rest of the night. He gathers his phone, keys and jacket and walks to Underhill’s desk in the open space down the stairs from his office. Underhill doesn’t ask any question, takes one look at him and nods, grabbing his stuff as well before he follows Alec to the underground parking lot. The drive home is mostly silent, and Underhill simply smiles at him when they get there. Alec thanks him in a murmur and climbs out of the car, waving absently at the doorman in greeting as he walks to the elevator.

He crashes into bed as soon as he is done getting rid of his shoes, shirt and pants, falling asleep with the sound of Magnus’ laughter echoing in his ears, and a mind too exhausted to question what it means or fight against it. He never really stood a chance against Magnus anyway.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think? Let me know.
> 
> Next time: the water.
> 
> I'm (mostly) on twitter [@_L_ecrit](https://twitter.com/_L_ecrit) and sometimes on tumblr [@lecrit](http://lecrit.tumblr.com/).
> 
> See y'all on Sunday for the next chapter.
> 
> All the love,  
> Lu.


	5. The water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A kiss, a confession and an exposure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE B*TCHES.  
> (kidding)
> 
> *clears throat* Hi cupcakes.
> 
> Please use #lecrit if you're live-tweeting.
> 
> Bye cupcakes.

**BOSTON, APRIL 2007.**

Spring has always been Magnus’ favorite time of the year. He loves to feel it slowly but confidently advancing, bringing warmth one day and reclaiming it the next. He loves to watch the flowers finally unfrost and show their blossom to whoever pays attention, their vibrant hues soaking in the wavering air. Christopher Columbus Park is perfect for that, because the wind sweeps from the sea urging them to bloom, whispering words of encouragement.

Magnus has always loved the sea, too. There is nothing quite as soothing as the sound of the gentle waves scattering against the shore, reflecting the evening sun as they do like millions of stars shining just for them.

In some ways, he thinks, spring and the sea have a lot in common with new relationships. They depend on the wind, on whether one stops in their course to appreciate their beauty or moves on without a second thought. Everything in new relationships is transitory, fragile like the daffodils burgeoning and the pansies unfolding like a well-kept mystery they unveil one petal at a time.

Like the sea and its often tumultuous waters, new relationships can be eerie, intimidating, and sometimes all it takes is a bit of hope, and the right person to sail with.

It is all very new, this. It’s only their third date, although they have been friends for longer than that.

When Simon introduced Magnus to his roommate Alec after inviting him to celebrate with them Alec’s birthday at their favorite campus bar after a particularly demanding theater class, he didn’t think they would have much in common. Alec was a tall, broody and quiet political science student, who smiled too rarely and lit up a whole room when he did. Magnus had thought him shy at first, but Alec had surprised him with his wit and his ruthless albeit fond will to turn Simon’s credulity and lack of alcohol tolerance in a night of teasing and laughter. It only took a few hours –and a couple of Maia’s infamous cocktails– for Alec to warm up to Magnus. He had thus discovered that Alec was almost annoyingly smart, but oddly humble about it, and that he spent more time listening than he did talking, which Magnus had found to be a scarce trait among Harvard attendants, especially those in political science who seemed to have an innate ability to fall in love with the sound of their own voice. At least that was the explanation Magnus was going with.

They had become quick friends, bonding first over their mutual love of teasing Simon endlessly, and then everything else. As little as Alec spoke, Magnus had rapidly found out he could listen to him forever, even more so when he talked politics, because his whole body seemed to come alive with the passion coursing through him, his hands sometimes talking for him, and his eyes burning with a fire he had almost found himself jealous of a few times. It hadn’t taken too long for Magnus to shift toward infatuation more so than friendship, much to Catarina’s amusement, but he had kept quiet about it. For all he knew, Alec was straight and if he wasn’t, then he was deep in the closet, and he knew better than to try and force him out of it. A few innuendos and pointed looks here and there couldn’t hurt, however. Alec only ever responded with that adorable blush of his or a fond click of his tongue, which hadn’t given away any clue that he was either attentive or receptive to Magnus’ coy advances.

Which was perhaps why Magnus had been so surprised when Alec had knocked on the door of their apartment one night a couple of weeks ago, cheeks flushed, panting, but gaze resolute, and had asked him out without an ounce of hesitation, and just the right amount of reserve to make Magnus’ stomach lurch with proverbial butterflies. It took him an embarrassingly long moment to say yes, but he couldn’t truly regret it, not when he was in the first row to witness Alec’s look of mortified agony morph into a brazen grin. He did make the world brighter every time he smiled, Magnus had thought. And then he had smiled back.

This is their third date, now. They grabbed some modest dinner from a food truck and took a stroll down Harborwalk, hand in hand, chatting but barely, basking in each other’s presence, the smooth tide of the water and the early days of spring instead.

They walked for an hour or so before they made it to Christopher Columbus park and sat down on a bench facing the water. They are still there now, and Magnus isn’t quite sure if their silence is the consequence of them being engrossed in the scenery, or in each other, but he welcomes it either way.

Magnus, by all available standards, has lived a frantic life, and sometimes he doesn’t know how to slow down. He has moved too much, is always balancing too many projects and responsibilities, is perpetually eager to do more, discover more, live more. Alec, in all his stoic but benevolent composure and quiet grace, has an oddly calming effect on him.

“I’m gonna have to postpone our date next week,” Alec says abruptly.

Magnus blinks away from his observation of the water, and turns to Alec, lifting an eyebrow. His heart clutches in his chest, but he masks it with a small smile, swallowing down his disappointment. He should’ve known it was too good to be true; Magnus lives frantically for many reasons, and one of them is and should be that it prevents him from setting himself up for heartbreak. You don’t have time to get your heart broken when you don’t have time at all.

“Oh,” he says, lost for words.

Clearly, he isn’t as good as an actor as he likes to think he is, because Alec’s eyes widen slightly in panic as they rake over him, gauging his reaction.

“It-It’s just that my mother is coming in town to visit me,” he rushes out. “And I just don’t want to submit you to that because I don’t want her to scare you off.”

His cheeks are a little pink when he finishes, and Magnus bites his bottom lip in an effort not to do something hurried and reckless, like laugh. Or kiss him. He is definitely more partial to the second option, but they haven’t been there yet. They are taking things slow, and that is also a change for Magnus, but he finds himself loving it. He loves that Alec brushes his fingers against his own before taking his hand, and that he kisses Magnus’ cheek when they meet and part. Most of all, he loves that every moment with Alec feels like writing another page to a story they are in no rush to end.

“Alexander,” Magnus says, surprised by the almost absurd fondness he can hear in his own voice. Alec has that effect on him, too. “Last time I checked, I was dating you, not her.”

Alec grimaces, his nose scrunching up rather adorably. “Please don’t ever say that again.”

Magnus rolls his eyes, chuckling. “I can promise you it will take more than your mother to scare me away from you.”

He surprises himself, too, with the utter honesty of his words. It isn’t exactly that Magnus lies. As much as he can, he urges himself to be as honest as possible, but he grew up in an environment where everything was forged and counterfeit, lies and subterfuges, and so he has learned to wear a mask in order to survive. It scares him sometimes, more than Alec’s mother ever could, how Alec seems to see right through him to a point where Magnus doesn’t even try to pretend. There is no point in lying about being happy when he truly is.

If Magnus didn’t know better, he would think he was in love already. Catarina certainly seems to think so.

“I don’t know,” Alec sighs. “She can be… She’s… She’s a lot,” he finishes with a huff.

Magnus shrugs. “And my father is a mess,” he says matter-of-factly. “And I would probably worry about him scaring you off if he ever decides to remember I exist and comes to visit, but none of this truly matters because this –us– it’s not about who your mother is, or who my father is. It’s about you and I, and I care about you. That’s enough of a reason for me to stick around, as long as you are too.”

Alec blinks, and there is a galaxy in his eyes when he glances back at Magnus, a thousand of words that all shape into a single sentence, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Somehow, Magnus doesn’t doubt that. And not because there is a tacite promise in Alec’s eyes, but because lately, he seems to always be there, in a corner of Magnus’ mind even when they are not together. He is a stable force, slowly worming his way into Magnus’ life, filling his disorganized chaos with a constant he hadn’t even been looking for.

It is a strange feeling, this balance he finds with Alec. A certain absolute.

It is strange, and frightening, but Magnus doesn’t try to fight it. He has waited long enough for it.

Alec’s eyes on him are tender, and Magnus’ hand reaches out to cup his neck, skimming the tip of his thumb along his jawline. He opens his mouth to say something, although he doesn’t know what, or if he’ll be able to articulate anything remotely eloquent, but Alec’s mouth is on his before he can, and Magnus forgets all about it.

His lips are soft against Magnus’, but there is a firm desperation in the way they move, an urgency that clashes with Alec’s usual composed demeanor and yet fits perfectly with the passion that burns inside of him. Alec’s fingers close around Magnus’ sweater, drawing him closer, and Magnus’ shiver is immediately suppressed by the heat he can feel emanating from Alec’s body, the scent of him wafting through his mind and leaving a harmonious pandemonium in its wake.

As far as first kisses go, and Magnus has had a few, this one is unique in many ways. This one, he will remember. This one holds a meaning Magnus can’t comprehend just yet, opens another chapter to their story, and alongside it a plethora of possibilities he hopes they uncover together.

Magnus loves spring and the sea. He finds out that night, on a bench in Christopher Columbus park, that he loves kissing Alec even more.

.

**SEASIDE, MAY 2017.**

Alec went through a phase in his teenage years where he hated their annual family vacation in Seaside. It was probably the most rebellious he ever allowed himself to be, at least until he came out to his parents and refused to let them dictate how he should live his life anymore. Now that things have settled down –if this can be said when he lives the frantic life he does– it has become one of his favorite times of the year.

They don’t do anything special but go to the beach, play boardgames in the evenings and wander in the streets, letting the profusion of greens around them lure them into an ephemeral sense of peace, but Alec cherishes these moments when he isn’t the guy running for mayor in New York, the one everyone holds accountable for mistakes that aren’t always his own but often his party’s, or a Harvard alumni who is thus apparently bound to know everything about everything. Here, with nothing to surround him but family and his closest friends, Alec is none of those things, and all the more himself for it.

He still has vivid memories of the first time Magnus came along with them, after they had been dating for a little over a year. He often thinks that this is when he started appreciating this getaway again, when the air around here stopped being suffocating. The year he came back after their breakup had been something else entirely, the ghost of Magnus’ presence haunting every place he had showed to him in the hope it would make his eyes glimmer with awe and excitement, but Alec doesn’t like to ponder on that too much. Things have changed now, although he isn’t sure he would deem them better. They are different, is all he knows for sure.

He pushes the thoughts away with a sigh, leaning back on the patio couch and stretching his legs. Simon is sitting on the couch in front of him, a pencil between his teeth and his guitar sitting on his lap as he goes through chord after chord to find the one he thinks will suit best for the song he has been writing.

Casting a glance at the beach stretching out below their feet, Alec can see his mother and Luke walking hand in hand, so far away from the house now they are just silhouettes strolling, feet in the water and smiles on their faces he can’t see but easily fathom. Jace and Clary are swimming and chatting in the placid gulf, Isabelle sunbathing next to their towels. The beach is fairly quiet, the late afternoon having chased away the last wayfaring strangers.

Alec checks his phone, grimacing a little at the automatic gesture. He promised his mother and siblings he wouldn’t campaign from here, but he can’t help checking his emails regularly, in case a bomb is dropped on them from nowhere and he has to head back to New York to deal with the latest crisis. Politics, if anything, can make one paranoid, although Alec would rather call it precautious. Izzy likes to say it’s just his way of wording it so that he doesn’t make it too obvious his life has become an endless storm of unpredictable events that has him perpetually looking over his shoulder for the next obstacle.

The last email he got from Maia, though, wasn’t showing any sign of alarm: _I promise I’ll let you know if New York is sucked into a blackhole. Enjoy your holiday before I tell your mother you’re emailing me about work things and she confiscates your phone. Bye, loser. Love you._

Truth is, Alec has learned, despite his best efforts otherwise, to grow weary of the quiet. The storms that follow are never just a breeze and as much as he would like to deny it, Alec has become addicted to the wild rhythm of his life. He gets too easily bored now, and he often thinks this is why he seeked the placating thrill he has found in his unconventional settlement with Magnus.

He contemplates on calling him for a moment, but he knows it is the middle of the night in Europe, and he doesn’t want to wake him up and deprive him from the sleep he must so desperately need in the midst of his press tour, especially not because he is bored. And perhaps missing him a little. He has seen how tired Magnus gets from them, and how he sleeps for almost two full days when he gets back, jetlag and the constant agitation getting the best of him.

Maybe he can text him. Then, Magnus can reply when he is up, if he gets a moment in his frantic day. They could even squeeze in a phone call before his movie’s London premiere in two days. Alec will be fine with a five-minute talk to vent about... he doesn’t even know what. He could listen to Magnus vent instead, and smile at his dramatics, because they never fail to put him in a good mood. So, texting. Texting is good. Texting doesn’t require more effort than they should be putting into this arrangement.

Alec is pulled out of his thoughts brutally by a pencil landing on his forehead and he startles, blinking back at Simon.

“Stop overthinking, I can hear you from here.”

Alec sends him a seething glare, but Simon seems utterly unimpressed.

“I’m not overthinking,” Alec retorts, a blatant lie.

One Simon doesn’t let him get away with, which is why he is alternatively Alec’s best friend and worst enemy.

“Please,” Simon snorts, “we both know there are two options here: you were either trying to figure out how you could sneak in an hour of work without your mother catching you, or trying to work out what time it is in London right now.”

Alec doesn’t let himself blush at the true ramification of Simon’s words and unwavering gaze, and throws the pencil back at him. “I know what time it is in London.”

Simon lifts an eyebrow. “For a politician, that was one shitty comeback.”

“Are you purposely trying to annoy me or are you going somewhere with this?” Alec snaps, although he knows Simon doesn’t take it to heart. Their bickering has been part of their relationship from day one, and it has since then remained one of the constants in Alec’s life.

“You and Magnus,” Simon deadpans, the corner of his lips curving with the hint of a smirk. He doesn’t say more, but Alec hears all of it nonetheless.

He rolls his eyes, hard enough that he thinks he might uncover the last mysteries of the human brain, and heaves out. “What about it?”

“Are you still fuck buddies?” Simon asks, with a shrug that holds none of the innocence he seems to be aiming for.

Alec’s eyes widen and hastily drift to the beach to make sure no one heard Simon, but his family hasn’t moved closer, all too far to hear even a single word. “Simon,” he hisses in warning.

“What?” he exclaims, raising his hands in innocence and almost dropping his guitar in the process.

“Keep your fucking voice down,” Alec growls.

Simon scoffs out. “I mean, I always knew your family was too good looking to be only human, but you could’ve told me enhanced hearing was another one of your supernatural abilities. I feel betrayed.”

“All you’re gonna feel soon is pain if you don’t stop being a pain in my ass,” Alec retorts, with less fire than his words entail.

“Speaking of,” Simon quips, smirking, “you and Magnus? Are you still just boning?”

“Oh my god,” Alec mutters under his breath, trailing a hand over the light scruff he only ever allows to grow at this time of the year. “Please don’t ever call it boning again.”

“I’d love to say ‘make love’ but I thought it was clear there was no more of that between the two of you,” Simon replies, the innocence in his tone belied by the slight tilt at the end of every word.

Alec’s eyes shoot up to his former best friend, teeth gritting. “Simon.”

“Come on, Alec,” he sighs, dropping all pretence of subtlety. “I know you know I know.”

Alec struggles to swallow past the lump in his throat, “I don’t, actually,” he replies stubbornly. “It is what it is and I know it’s not… conventional, but it works, and it has been working for the past three years.”

Simon groans, irritation flashing on his face before he shakes his head. “Dude, I lived with you for five years, four of those where Magnus lived right across the hall or with us half of the time, too. I know you, and I know you two together. Why are you even pretending at this point? We both know you still love him.”

The words don’t scare him as much as Alec thought they would. It’s not that he isn’t frightened by the immensity of his feelings for Magnus –because he is, always has been– but he knows. He knows that when his thoughts wander, they always come back to Magnus. He knows how he craves his presence when he isn’t there, and how he craves him even more when he is. He knows all it takes for him to smile is a text from Magnus, be it a single word that Alec always spends too long overanalyzing. He knows all of that and more, things he won’t tell Simon, things he keeps to himself. He knows he sometimes thinks of Boston and longs to get back to those times when things were easier, when they were drunk on cheap beer and love and freedom.

“Of course I love him,” Alec says, almost furiously, the admission slipping seamlessly from his mouth. There is a certain ease, he supposes, in confessing the obvious. “I’ve always loved him.”

Simon blinks, adjusting his glasses on his nose as if he can’t quite believe what just happened. “Then why do you do this?” he asks, sympathetic now. “Are you happy like this?”

Alec shrugs. “It doesn’t really matter.”

“But it does,” Simon opines, brows dipping into a frown.

“Not really,” Alec retorts, and raises a hand before Simon can argue further. “I am happy to have him back in my life, Simon, and I want it to stay that way. I can’t tell him I want more, because it would ruin everything. And I can’t _want_ more, because there is no scenario where we both come out winning.”

“What do you mean?”

“I know you think I haven’t, but I’ve thought this through,” Alec eludes. “ _If_ I tell Magnus the truth about my feelings, and _if_ he still shares them, and _if_ he accepts to be in a real relationship with me, it would require sacrifices from us both and I can’t ask that of him.” Simon’s frown deepens, and Alec sighs, leaning back into the couch. “What happens if I’m in a position of power tomorrow and I fuck up royally? How does that affect Magnus’ career? Does he lose the public’s support too? Does he get dragged down with me?”

“So what if the media tries to drag him down? Magnus is used to that,” Simon reminds him, his tone lower now, patient.

Alec shakes his head. “He isn’t. I don’t have the same kind of public profile Magnus does. I’m a politician, and just because we’re both public figures doesn’t mean we have the same audience. What happens if Magnus wants to take a role and then he realizes it could spur more critics towards me because it’s too risqué for my puritan voters? Or that it might become another opportunity for my opponents to discredit me through my private life? Does he refuse it? I don’t want that.” He chews on his bottom lip, levelling Simon with a grave look. “How many fans does he lose if we are together? And how many tweets do I get about his sex scenes in his next HBO show instead of the latest policy I’m trying to implement? If he wants to speak up about public issues like he’s always done, how can he without being accused of being just a pawn giving a wider platform to my own ideas? How long until they vilify him through me, or vice versa? It’s just… too messy, Simon. Too risky. For the both of us.”

“I–” Simon starts, but his voice trails off as Isabelle walks up to them from the beach, sunglasses on her nose and towel on her shoulder.

She ruffles Alec’s hair as she walks by, and Alec lets her, knowing full well this is a fight he cannot win. He knows when to recognize those, no matter how much his loved ones can praise him for never giving up. There can be grace in giving up, Alec knows, an underlying sense of sacrifice apparent only to the one suffering the consequences.

She casts a look between him and Simon, probably picking up on the tension hanging between them, but she must ascribe it to their usual banter because she shrugs and takes off towards the house. “I’m going for a shower and then you’re playing Scrabble with me,” she says, no hint of it being a question in her tone. “And Alec, you’re not allowed to text Magnus your letters like you did last time!”

She’s gone before he can answer, but Alec doesn’t really have the time to ponder on it. They all assume he texted Magnus to cheat –which is almost insulting, because Alec can very well kick their asses at Scrabble on his own– but the actual reason is that Alec had been able to spell ‘Jeff’ with his letters and the fortuity was too good for Alec not to share it with Magnus. His text back – _well at least whoever hacks into my phone certainly won’t be able to pick up on that next-level sexting, Alexander (also you can play fjeld, you’re welcome)_ – had made the outrageous cheating accusations worth it. Although Magnus had indeed helped him, but that was out of the goodness of his heart and not because Alec had asked.

He had obviously played fjeld, though.

Simon clears his throat, canting his head to make sure Isabelle is out of earshot. “You’ve really thought this through,” he says, a statement more than an inquiry.

Alec nods. He has. He spent one too many nights trying to wrap his mind around all the possibilities, all the possible doors opened to them. For most of those nights, Magnus was lying naked by his side, nose smudged against Alec’s shoulder or buried in his pillow for him to let his eyes map the soft curve of his lips and the peace settled on his features as he dreamed of dreams Alec would have loved to share.

He’s tried to think of it all in a positive light, inspired by those fleeting moments where Magnus huddles closer to him in his sleep, or smiles from a good dream, but perhaps politics has made him cynical, although his fatalism might as well be what took him this far. People like him because he doesn’t lie unless he absolutely has to, to them and to himself. And he would be doing just that if he wasn’t fatalistic about the outcome of their relationship.

They love what they do so much, and Alec would never ask Magnus to sacrifice his passion for them, just like he knows Magnus would never do that either.

So, this is what they have. An awry friendship, a haunting past, an undeniable chemistry, and no future at all.

“It’s just how it is,” he says.

“You know, I think you’re wrong,” Simon muses, gentle in the way only friends can be when they try to find a solution to a problem that doesn’t necessarily require fixing. “I have known you two for a very long time, and I don’t think there’s anything you two can’t overcome. You’re strong apart, and only stronger together. And you bring out the best in each other.”

And without another word, he goes back to his notebook, sticking his guitar pick between his teeth as he scribbles something down.

Perhaps Simon is right, Alec allows himself to ponder. Perhaps Magnus knows, just as well as Alec does, that they don’t have to look further because they already found the greatest love they could, the one that transcends and elevates, tears apart and comforts. Perhaps he knows, like Alec does, that these feelings are nothing if not lasting, that if six years haven’t made these feelings subdue, it is likely nothing will. That some loves are meant to simmer down and vanish with time, but not this one. Not theirs. And that, if anything, is scary.

But perhaps they should think about that together, Alec tells himself. They have talked about it before. Magnus has joked about refusing to be a ‘first lady’ and they had dismissed it, but that was a while ago, before Magnus had started spending more time in New York, before they started having drawers at each other’s places and calling to hear the other’s laugh when they are apart. They could build something new from the old. They could borrow some time to figure things out.

He’ll text Magnus tomorrow. Or perhaps he’ll call him.

He misses his voice when he’s away.

.

Alec has learned not to trust the media, the tabloids even less, and to second-guess everything they disclose in the name of journalism but there is no mistaking him in the pictures they publish two days later of his family on the beach, shirtless and laughing with his sister and best friend. He’s on the front cover of the tabloid magazines, his half naked body splattered over it, but the headlines are about Simon Lewis and his peaceful holidays with friends. Alec doesn’t think too much of it, at first. After all, it is a normal consequence of having a superstar best friend, and it has happened before, although he was fully dressed then. He could’ve dismissed it quite easily.

There is one thing, though, one detail he doesn’t even think about at first. He should know, by now, that the internet always manages to pick on the smallest details. He has seen them study some of Magnus’ movies scene by scene and shot by shot, or dissect some of his outfits to find hidden symbolism even Magnus wasn’t aware of.

This time, it all comes from a single tweet, that focuses on the one aspect of his privacy he never thought would be invaded. It starts with a snowball and evolves into an avalanche that threatens to ravage every delusion they have told themselves on what they are and what they could be. It tells a story about him, about the truth he never forgets. About those things he took home from college.

One of the pictures shows his back, Simon facing him, head thrown back in laughter, and there, for all to see and to scrutinize: his tattoo.

In forty-eight hours, the secrecy of its meaning becomes a distant memory.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *points at butterfly* Is this a cliffhanger?
> 
> Oops.
> 
> Next time: the tattoo.
> 
> I'll see y'all on Wednesday, hope you liked it :)
> 
> All the love,  
> Lu.


	6. The tattoo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A missed call, coordinates, and a parlor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *drops this and runs away*
> 
> (I'm just running away because I'm posting this early in the morning before I have to leave for the office.)

**LONDON, MAY 2017**

“Alright, there’s an interviewer on the red carpet that was hired by the studio to talk to all of you. They’re broadcasting the event live on Facebook, Twitter, and YouTube, so watch your language,” Helen says, pausing to glance up to make sure Magnus is listening. He nods, huffing a little at her pointed look. Satisfied, she focuses back on her notes. “You have about fifteen minutes to take pictures with fans and sign autographs, then a five minute interview about the movie. The projection starts at nine o’clock sharp. As the director, Tessa will say a few words. You can talk too if you want, but that’s up to you.”

Magnus shakes his head. “It’s Tessa’s movie, she should be the one doing the talking.”

Helen hums in acknowledgment, scribbling something down. “I arranged for a room to be set up backstage because I know you don’t like watching yourself in the middle of a crowd filled with strangers. There’s a buffet there so you can eat something and take a quick nap. There will be a Q&A with the audience at the end of the movie.”

“Copy that, Captain,” Magnus says teasingly, a fond smile on his lips.

The car brakes slowly and comes to a stop. Magnus takes in a deep breath, bracing himself for the crowd. It isn’t that he hates it, but the first step on the red carpet is always overwhelming, and Magnus never got quite used to people yelling his name and begging for his attention. He is about to step out of the car when his phone buzzes in his hand, Alec’s name flashing on the screen. Magnus leans back into the car, but can’t do much more than that before the device is plucked out of his hand.

“Nope,” Helen exclaims before Magnus can realize what’s going on. “You know my ‘no phone on the red carpet’ rule,” she reminds him when he opens his mouth to protest. Magnus pouts, batting his eyelashes exaggeratedly at her, but Helen doesn’t waver, pointing her thumb towards the car door as she makes a show of refusing the call on his phone. “You can call him back when the projection has started and you’re alone backstage.”

Magnus rolls his eyes, but scoffs out a laugh under his breath. “Fine,” he mumbles, “but I hope you know that was very rude of you.”

“I’ll survive.” Helen chuckles, and leans over him to open the car door. The sound of the fans cheering outside immediately fills their ears. “Time to face the music, champion.”

“I’ll see you on the other side,” Magnus says, and inhales deeply before stepping out of the car. He quickly crosses Irving Street, shakes a few hands to greet the organizing team, and takes his first step of the night on the red carpet.

Fans are huddled behind metallic barriers plastered with the movie poster, dispatched in two lines on each side of the road, and their shouts double up as Magnus waves at them, grinning. A camera is pointing at him, probably for the live recording Helen told him about, and the crew follows him as he marches up to the group closest from him. He doesn’t make up much of what they are telling him, between cries and the shouts of the rest of the crowd, but he tries to smile in all the right places and leans in for a picture when he is asked to. He keeps every encounter short but polite, knowing he has very little time for each of the people gathered behind the barriers and that some of them probably waited for hours to catch a glimpse of him and his colleagues. Sign, smile, thank, repeat. He knows the gist of it by heart.

All in all, it is going rather smoothly, it is just another movie premiere like he has attended hundreds before.

That is, until the air changes rather dramatically.

Magnus glances to the side distractedly as he moves to another group. He sees Helen waving at him from where she is now standing by the front door waiting for him, and he waves back, brows furrowing at her attitude. Usually, she makes herself scarce until he is safely inside. She doesn’t like the spotlights and, unlike Magnus, she doesn’t have much patience for the often overzealous attention fans demonstrate toward him. She would much rather stay hidden behind the scene, consigned to oblivion by the public where she can work her magic in the shadows while Magnus basks in the lights. It isn’t like her, to even acknowledge or communicate with him while he is not only interacting with fans but also doing so on live camera.

He hasn’t said or done anything offensive, so he doesn’t quite comprehend the slight panic he can see in her eyes from afar. He tries to wrap his mind around the last moments. He doesn’t think he has said or done anything that would be deemed offensive. He signed, he smiled, he thanked. It’s not like the Queen is here and he’s turned his back to her. He hasn’t even sworn, which is something he likes to threaten her with because it always gets a rise from her. His slight absence only lasts a second, quickly captured by the reality of the situation.

Blinking back into focus, Magnus turns back towards the people gathered behind the barriers, and smiles at the woman in front of him, taking the picture she hands him out to sign it. She’s a petite blonde, with a sly grin that he guesses doesn’t always bode well, but there is something wicked about it, something that makes an alarm go off in the back of his mind, warning him that she isn’t a regular fan. Her phone is in his face, pointing at him, and Magnus puts on a patient smile when he realizes she is filming him.

“What’s your name?” he asks distractedly.

“Heidi,” she replies.

Magnus starts writing, but freezes mid signature when he actually takes a look at what the picture features. It isn’t him. It’s… _No._

“Is it true you and Alec Lightwood have matching tattoos?” she inquires, all prying and no restraint. He recognizes the tone now, and realizes why she didn’t strike him as a fan. She’s a journalist. And probably not of the respectful and respected kind.

Magnus tries to reply, but the shock renders him mute, and the words stutter against his lips.

“I–”

His voice trails off, as if unwilling to take flight and risk an answer. His eyes rake over the picture she handed him, his ears ringing as his mind tries to twist and turn in search of an answer. Why does she have a picture of Alec shirtless? Why does she know about the tattoos? Does everyone know?

_No._

The pen slips from his fingers, but Magnus doesn’t even attempt to catch it. His heart pounds in his chest, tuning off the sounds of the crowd around him. His gaze is drawn to the picture, mapping the familiar lines of Alec’s back muscles as if he could discover more to them than he already has, as if they are strangers to him when his fingers have brushed and felt and worshipped every inch of them. This should be something for Magnus alone to know, something he guards jealously as a wisdom grown through weeks and months and years.

There he stands, in the middle of Leicester Square, standing in front of a group of complete strangers who claim to love him but know of him nothing but what he allows them to, and he faces an ugly truth. His private life will never be private. His intimacy can only be so if his public allows it to be, and it just got out of his control.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he manages to choke out. It’s fake. He sounds fake.

When his career first started to take off, Magnus knew he would have to give up on a part of his privacy, but he has done a tremendous job at keeping his life as confidential as possible throughout the years, with Helen’s help. Their strategy is not flawless but it works; they share of his life just enough to feed the vultures, but not so much so that they can feast on his barren insides. When Magnus shares pictures of his made-up family with Ragnor, Catarina, Raphael, and Helen on Instagram, people don’t question what happened to the one he was born in. When he talks publicly about his mother’s death, with a shudder in his voice, it is to make sure people are too uncomfortable to ask him exactly what happened. When he tells the story of how he made it in this industry without any help from his movie producer of a father, he conveniently omits to share the reasons why he would never hope for any sort of support coming from him.

Magnus knows what game to play with the media, because he always is one step ahead.

He gives them a willing insight into his life, so that he can keep a hand on the wheel, so that he can control what is said about him, and he is the only one allowed to own the full truth of who he is. If they don’t know, they can’t touch him.

He has control. He has mastered this game. It’s for this reason that when he does a shirtless photoshoot and exposes his tattoo, he doesn’t expect them to look too deep into its meaning. But now they will. They probably have already started.

Alec’s skin is slightly tanned in the picture, and Simon is standing in front of him, head thrown back in laughter. Next to it, a smaller picture, zoomed in to enhance Alec’s tattoo, as if it wasn’t his body anymore but a clue, a proof of what they have spent so much time and effort into hiding.

It is right there before him, the inscription Magnus knows by heart, for he bares the same one, in the exact same spot.

_42° 21' 41.3928'' N_

_71° 3' 3.1428'' W_

How do they explain this? Even with Maia and Helen’s experience in dealing with complex and unpredicted situations, they _can’t_ explain this. He doesn’t think anyone will believe the friends excuse anymore. This is too personal, too intimate of a gesture.

It was supposed to stay just that.

“Magnus?”

He doesn’t reply.

His heart still beats –he knows it, because he can hear it echoing in his temples– but it does so against a chest that feels hollow. His eyes still see, the sharp line of Alec’s jaw, the numbers he skims his fingers against when they lay in bed together, the midnight blue of his own painted nails over the page, his hands trembling as they tightened their hold on the paper.

His mind has begun to shut down, unable to think anymore.

“Magnus?” He feels a hand on his shoulder, swirling him around. Helen is there, her eyes wide with panic. Magnus blinks at her, lips parting in shock –and perhaps something more, something vicious and terrible. Devastating.

Alec tried to call him before he stepped out of the car. He was trying to warn him of this reality they can’t escape now.

They know, he thinks, because that is all he is capable of. _Everyone_ knows.

Helen grabs his hand gently, sends the fans an apologetic smile, and tugs him away from the crowd, ignoring the cries of disappointment as she does. Magnus follows without a word. His heart is hammering in his chest, rendering him deaf to anything but its wild beating, and the weight in his stomach that prevents him from breathing properly.

They know, and it can only mean one thing.

Magnus has just lost him. Again.

.

**BOSTON, APRIL 2011**

Magnus stands in the threshold between the bar and the pool table, watching as Simon and Alec bicker over something completely alien to him. He topples down the step into the pool room and walks up to Alec, burying himself into the nest of his arms, his nose trailing against his neck. Alec relaxes immediately and hums in content as he gathers him against his chest, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“I’m drunk,” Magnus mumbles against his skin.

Alec chuckles, and nods. “So am I,” he replies against his ear, swinging them back and forth as his fingers trail down Magnus’ back. “But don’t worry, Simon is way more wasted than we are, because he’s been trying to convince me you and I should go with him to go get a tattoo at the twenty-four seven parlor down the street.”

Magnus retreats from his hiding spot to turn to Simon, lifting an eyebrow. “It’s our last year!” Simon exclaims defensively, as if it is the perfect motive. “Finals are over and we only have a couple of months left. We’re gonna be separated, Magnus! Separated! Us, the infernal trio!”

“No one calls us that,” Alec butts in, deadpan.

“And you completely forget about Catarina,” Magnus adds.

“The infernal quartet!” Simon corrects, pointing at them with the cue stick and swaying dangerously on his feet. “I only forgot about her because she abandoned us tonight for a date with Ragnor. I want to get your names tattooed so I can never forget you!”

“I hope I’m memorable enough that you don’t need to get my name tattooed on your ass,” Magnus argues reasonably. “But I actually love this idea, so long as I’m allowed to make fun of you for the rest of your life.”

“Magnus,” Alec growls, half chastising and half laughing.

“I’m only doing it if you’re getting one too!” Simon squeals, already putting his jacket back on.

“Deal,” Magnus retorts, and slips out of Alec’s arms to grab his own jacket.

“What the fuck is going on?” Alec mumbles, blinking in stupor.

Magnus grabs his hand and tugs him forward, probably less smoothly than he intended because Alec goes crashing forward, almost head-butting him in the process. “Just play along, babe,” he murmurs with a conniving grin, downing the rest of his cocktail in one gulp. When Alec goes to protest, he pecks his lips quickly, watching with pride as his boyfriend unwinds at once. “Remember all the times he forgot his keys and had to wake you up in the middle of the night,” he adds with a mischievous smirk, watching as Alec’s eyebrows crease in response. “Or when he was in his horror movie period and actually crawled into bed with us because he had allegedly seen a ghost? Oh, or that time he left the fridge open and there was a cockroach invasion in the kitchen?”

Alec’s jaw flexes in irritation, and Magnus suppresses the urge to press a lingering kiss there. “Yes, I do remember,” he replies, teeth gritted. “But I think the worst time was when he had a robotic project and his fucking robot kept hitting me on the head instead of giving me my coat.”

“This is payback, Alexander,” Magnus says with a shrug, because his drunken mind is far more cruel than his sober self would ever be. “It will serve him as a reminder not to do these things in his next life. We’ll always be with him, haunting him.”

“You say that as if we’re all about to die and get reincarnated,” Alec scoffs, but he has stopped frowning, so Magnus takes it as a win.

“Yo, Gideon!” Simon all but shouts from the doorway, waving excitedly. “Move your ass, how come you go running every morning and yet you’re still so slow?”

“Let’s convince him to get ‘YOLO’ tattooed on his ass, too,” Alec blurts out, glaring at Simon as he grabs Magnus’ hand, tangling their fingers together.

Magnus laughs, loud, and carefree, and definitely inebriated. “I love you so much.”

Alec throws him a lopsided grin, the one hearing those words from Magnus always warrant that still makes Magnus weak in the knees four years later. “I love you too.”

“Finally,” Simon sighs dramatically when they join him at the door.

They step outside, and Magnus huddles closer to Alec, letting go of his hand to wrap an arm around his waist instead, Alec reacting immediately and capping his own over Magnus’ shoulders. It isn’t cold outside but the air of the night is bitter, perhaps because they just left the sultry atmosphere of the bar. It provides just the perfect excuse for them to bundle together –not that they truly need one.

“You two are cute,” Simon states firmly, with the same confidence he possesses when he spurts out his passion for music. “The cutest. I love you so much.”

“We love you too,” Magnus says.

“Meh,” Alec grumbles.

“You know what?” Simon goes on as if they hadn’t even spoken. “You should get matching tattoos at the parlor to celebrate your beautiful, beautiful love.” He stumbles on his feet, but catches himself before he can faceplant on the sidewalk. Alec is the closest to him, and Magnus suspects he wouldn’t have budged a muscle to break his fall, so it’s a good thing Simon still has some sort of reflexes when drunk. “You should get a Scrabble tattoo, for all the nights you spent playing Scrabble like the old married couple you are.”

Magnus gasps, feigning offense at the insult, but doesn’t hold the mask very long before he giggles.

“Or that song Alec always plays for you on the piano!” Simon continues, pointing a finger at him.

“The whole song?” Alec piques lazily, although there is a hint of amusement in the eternally annoyed but somehow fond tone he uses only with Simon. “How about you focus on your own tattoo instead of trying to get us to get one?”

Simon scoffs dejectedly. “Or a ying and yang. Alec can get the black part to fit the color of his soul.”

Alec plucks the bar receipt out of his pocket and mashes it into a paper ball before throwing it to Simon’s face, who yelps and says something about the environment before leaning down to pick it up with great difficulties.

Magnus titters under his breath, and tilts his head to press a kiss to Alec’s cheek. “Be nice.”

Alec grumbles something inaudible, but watches with a satisfied smile as Simon falls on his ass in his attempt at picking up the paper. He glances up at them, heaving out a deep, defeated sigh.

“Go on without me,” he announces dramatically, holding up the receipt triumphantly as a sign of his great sacrifice. “I will just stay here on the floor, with this receipt, cherishing the memories of this night forever.”

“Oh my God,” Alec snaps, but the irritation is lost in his muffled laughter. “The tattoo parlor is literally right here, you dumbass.”

Magnus looks to the side, the aggressive red neons making him squint a little. He has walked by this tattoo parlor probably a thousand times, a few of them while he was definitely just as inebriated as Simon is right now, but he never really stopped to look at it. He is pretty sure Ragnor once threw up in the parlor’s alley, though, so Magnus hopes they don’t recognize him.

Apart from the objectively distasteful neons, the place looks okay, clean and from the pictures displayed in the window, actually good at what they do.

Simon sighs heavily, laying a hand over his chest. He blinks at them in silence for a moment, and pouts. “I know I suggested stupid ideas, but it’s just because I want you to keep something of each other because you’re breaking up soon and it’s unfair. Life sucks. Nothing good lasts forever, except for tattoos.”

Magnus goes still, his breath hitching in his throat, and suddenly he feels very much revived, the reminder of their imminent fate achieving to sober him up. His heart clenches in his chest, Alec freezing as well at his side.

“Simon, please shut the fuck up,” he groans, tipping his chin down as he kicks at Simon’s sneaker with a frown.

“Let’s get you your tattoo now,” Magnus says, stepping away from Alec to offer Simon a helping hand. He grabs it with a thankful, dopey smile, and lets himself be pulled to his feet, before marching decidedly to the parlor.

Magnus watches him go with a fond shake of his head, and swirls back towards Alec, his mouth scrunched in a grimace. “Are you okay?”

Alec purses his lips. “I don’t like thinking about it,” he mumbles. “Losing you.”

Magnus crosses the distance between them, wrapping his arms around Alec’s shoulders and fiddling with the small hairs at the back of his neck. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there, darling,” he replies. “In the meantime, I want to cherish every moment with you, and every memory that led us from a bench in Chris Columbus park to right here and now.”

Alec nods, sighing, and leans his forehead against Magnus’. “You’re right. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Magnus murmurs, kissing him lightly. “Now, let’s watch your best friend make the biggest mistake of his life and laugh at him while he does.”

Alec chuckles, and follows Magnus to the parlor. He tugs faintly on his hand before they get to the door, though, his eyes scanning the various tattoo designs displayed in the window.

“Would you want to get one?”

Magnus’ brows tip in confusion for a moment, before he follows Alec’s gaze. “Matching tattoos?” Alec hums in confirmation, and Magnus shrugs. “Why not? I don’t think I could ever regret it, if it were about you.”

Alec smiles something small, almost relieved, definitely serene. “I wouldn’t either,” he says, with devastating simplicity. “Regret it. I couldn’t regret anything about you, Magnus. At least for now.”

Magnus knows the implications of his words, knows Alec would have wanted to try the long distance thing, maybe, but that Magnus couldn’t bring himself to do it, too scared, too doubtful in his own abilities to keep himself afloat in Alec’s absence. Simon might be utterly wasted, but he is right about one thing: life sucks, and this is impossibly, awfully unfair.

“We’re supposed to be happy drunk,” Magnus stresses, although he knows his desperate attempt at changing the subject for something lighter isn’t lost on Alec.

He indulges him, however, as he often does. “Right,” he says, holding his arm out for Magnus to take.

Magnus does, the gesture having become as natural to him as breathing, and together they walk into the parlor, where a receptionist is standing, hands on her waist, hip tutted to the side and an eyebrow quirked as she stares at Simon who is now passed out on the couch, mouth wide open, drool slithering down his chin and glasses askew.

“Are you Gideon and Magnus?” she asks them, sounding as dubious as they must look.

“It’s Alec,” Alec grumbles, glaring at Simon despite his obvious inability to respond.

“Okay,” she says, with a look of total confusion. “Your friend here said your name was Gideon.”

“He’s clearly not my friend,” Alec retorts through gritted teeth. “He’s just obsessed with me and my boyfriend and follows us around because he wants us to adopt him.”

“Okay,” she says again, looking slightly worried now.

“He is our friend,” Magnus butts in, rolling his eyes when Alec huffs out in disapproval. “Sorry for the inconvenience, we’ll get him off your hands.”

She shrugs, unbothered. “He can stay here while I take care of you two. Who’s coming with me first?”

“What?” Alec and Magnus ask in the same voice.

“Your friend slash not friend,” she eludes, slowly as if they’re not speaking the same language. “He paid for your tattoos. Said he was doing it for true love and something about Scrabble?”

“Oh my God,” Alec sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why does the universe hate me?”

“A bit dramatic, babe,” Magnus says, poking his ribs playfully.

“Why did I allow myself to become friends with this asshole?” Alec tries again.

“Better,” Magnus allows.

He glances back at the window, watching the displays. It is obvious that the tattoo artists here are no amateurs –Magnus has heard about them before, only good things– and he feels a nervous kind of energy run through him. It tingles through his fingers and they drift toward Alec as if attracted beyond his own will. Alec’s own fingers react to it instinctively, brushing against Magnus’.

For a moment, Magnus merely waits in silence, his contemplation only short-lived because Alec’s head jerks to the side to look at him.

“Let’s do it.”

Magnus blinks, and finds himself not hesitating at all. “Okay.”

A grin spreads across Alec’s face, and he leans in to kiss Magnus, clumsy and awkward, but all the more special for it. “Okay,” he parrots. “Maybe I had an idea while looking through the window but I didn’t want to admit it.”

He plucks his phone out of his pocket and types something rapidly, frowning in concentration as he does. Magnus watches him quietly, knowing his facial expression must make bare the immensity of the love he holds in his heart for this beautiful, ridiculous man. He doesn’t mind too much.

As much as they like to keep their privacy to themselves, so that they can cherish it even more, he knows people don’t need more than a look to fathom the love they bare for each other. But they don’t really know, Magnus thinks, because they never could. Because it still surprises him himself when he lets himself ponder on it. How absolute and earth-shattering it all feels, to be able to love Alec Lightwood, and have him love him in return.

“Here,” Alec says. Hesitation flashes on his features as he hands Magnus his phone. He chews on his bottom lip, and Magnus wants to kiss the bad habit away, but suppresses the urge.

Magnus takes it with a reassuring smile. He barely has to look at it. From the look in Alec’s eyes, the flicker of affection and quietude he reserves solely for Magnus, he knows he will love this idea at least as much as he loves the mind behind it.

He glances down at the screen.

_42° 21' 41.3928'' N_

_71° 3' 3.1428'' W_

He knows the series is meant to represent the latitude and longitude of something, but his mind blanks as he stares at them.

“It’s our bench,” Alec eludes, voice small and gentle. “In Chris Columbus park.”

Magnus’ heart slams against his ribcage. Of course. What else could it be?

“I love it,” he murmurs.

Alec exhales deeply. “Thank fuck. I was not on board for the ying and yang idea.”

Magnus barks out a laugh, happiness coursing through him with the ease he has only known around Alec. He reaches out to cup Alec’s jaw in his hand, running his thumb over his cheek as his index trails lightly along the hem of his ear.

Oh, how he loves him. His face, his eyes, his smile, his heart. All that he knows, and all that he has left to discover.

“Alright,” the tattoo artist calls from behind the counter, “who’s coming with me first?”

“Go,” Magnus says with a smile. “I’ll stay and make sure Simon drinks some water.”

Alec lifts a finger, and plucks a pen from the inside pocket of his jacket, handing it out to Magnus. “Please draw something on his face first,” he says with a smirk. “We’ll let him believe he really got a tattoo tomorrow morning. It’s what he deserves for putting us through all of this.”

“I don’t know,” Magnus replies, although he takes the pen nonetheless, “I think we might be grateful in a few years. We’ll have something to remember our college years and how happy we were together. Something just for the two of us.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forever mad at myself for not making Simon get a YOLO tattoo on his ass.
> 
> I don't have time to post the whole thing but you know where to find me.
> 
> Next time: the pictures.
> 
> All the love,  
> Lu.


	7. The picture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A decision, uncooperative words, and a sacrifice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't have time to post tomorrow so, um, hi.
> 
> Please use #lecrit if you're doing the live-tweeting thingy.

**NEW YORK, MAY 2017**

****

_I swear I didn't mean to pry into their private lives but I was going through Simon’s beach pics hoping to see if Magnus was there. He wasn't but instead I found this_ _👀_ _. Not saying they have matching tattoos but they have matching tattoos @MagnusBane @AlecLightwood explain_

__

_adfgdfsdgfd they have matching tattoos!!!! Malec is real, bitches!!!_

__

_So I googled the numbers from their tattoos and apparently they’re coordinates to this random park in Boston?_

_I searched that location and can’t find any references for it in pop culture or classic literature… There’s nothing that could suggest it’s something common. Which means it has to be something between them. This isn’t a coincidence, guys!!!_

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_OMG GUYS THEY BOTH WENT TO HARVARD!!!!!!!! WHAT IF THEY KNOW EACH OTHER FROM THERE???_ _🤯_

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_These tattoos don’t look fresh, and we know Magnus has had his since at least 2013 when he did that shirtless photoshoot we’re all still dying over???_

_Alright, I’m just gonna say it… COLLEGE ROMANCE, Y’ALL! #Malecisreal_

_That’s why they both know Simon_ _😭😱_

_But are they still together???_

_I hope so! Imagine being /that/ power couple!_

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_Remember when we gushed over the charity gala pictures and y’all called us delusional? VINDICATIOOOON_

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_Time to bring back the pictures from the charity auction and cry for the next ten years I guess._

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_I wish @aleclightwood and @magnusbane would give us answers._

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_Are they okay tho? Magnus looked livid yesterday at the London premiere._

_I hope Magnus is doing okay :((((_

_Have you seen Alec Lightwood’s face? I’m sure Magnus is fiiiiiine._

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_Aren’t politicians supposed to be old and terrible? Didn’t Alec Lightwood get the memo?_

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_Magnus really managed to find himself the only decent politician known to humankind. Love that for him._

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_So… *cough* now would be the right time for some college pictures to surface @ magnus and alec’s classmates *cough*_

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_Now that you’re all here, take some time to sign the petition that was launched by Alec Lightwood’s team to save and restore The Institute in the East Village._

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_So apparently Alec Lightwood started his career as personal staff for Imogen Herondale and he quit when she refused to condemn torture. He’s got brains, beauty AND ethics? If they’re not actually together, someone please tell him I’m available. #Malec_

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_If what it takes for people to follow politics is that there are no actual politics involved, I guess I’m on board with #Malec too._

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_This coming out right in the midst of Lightwood’s campaign and none of you is going to question it? I’ve always known liberals to be naive but we’ve really reached rock bottom._

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_Alec Lightwood will go down in history as the most ridiculous politician. First he staged a forced coming out to attract sympathy and now he's dating a Hollywood wannabe? That's just sad._

_All of this is wrong on so many levels but hey, at least he'll go down in history, which is more than your stupid ass can say._

“Okay, I’ve read enough,” Alec mutters, pushing away the iPad with a scowl. He runs a hand over his tired features, sighing.

Never in a million years would he have imagined sitting in his headquarters, reading tweets about his relationship with Magnus as if he were a mere spectator to it.

The tabloids have already started covering every aspect of what little they know, prying on salacious details and seeking their old classmates for comments on their story. His phone has been buzzing with new calls relentlessly despite his number being strictly unlisted, and for the first time in his life, Alec has been harangued by a horde of paparazzis in front of his own work place, yelling at him for answers as if he had anything to tell them.

Alec had little sympathy for celebrities that displayed their private lives in tabloids. He often put it on the account of them courting celebrity and fame, up until it had happened to him. And this feels too familiar. It brings back memories of his forced coming-out that he has tried desperately to forget. He knows, now, that they don’t only pry on the ones that crave the attention. On the contrary, they would rather feast on the intimacy of the people who jealously guard their life secluded from their public image.

Alec hates it, hates them, hates Magnus’ fan who, perhaps unknowing of the consequences, pointed out the resemblance of their tattoos, and started this whole shitstorm he is now stuck with. More importantly, Alec hates that he hasn’t heard from Magnus since he saw the live images of him losing his composure in front of a so-called fan who asked him about the true nature of their relationship.

The feeling of powerlessness that took over him as he watched Magnus’ crestfallen expression is one he knows will probably haunt him for too long. Alec is used to protecting the people he loves, acting like a force-field thrown over them to shield them from harm, and although Magnus has never needed his help to take care of himself, it is in Alec’s nature to want to do so nonetheless. It was one of the reasons why he waged a career in politics despite the multitude of obstacles that were shoved in his path. It was a natural call to him, to protect the vulnerable and make it his mission to assign to others the same fierce watchful vigilance he had committed to for his family and friends. What good is he to anyone, though, if all he can do is watch from a distance, paralyzed and helpless, as they are submitted to hurdles he can’t stop?

He tried to call, texted more times than is probably deemed acceptable, and only got a swift answer hours after he first saw the footage, unable to do anything to ease the obvious dismay on Magnus’ features.

_I’m okay, Alexander. I just need to sleep, so I can think about all of this with a clear head. I’ll call you._

It’s been two days now, and Alec’s phone has stayed silent.

“I don’t know what to do,” he says, voice low and shaking. If only Magnus would call him, they could figure it out together.

He knows Magnus is busy doing press for his movie and probably negotiating with every single journalist he comes in contact with to dodge intrusive questions about their private lives, but he just needs to hear from him. To hear his voice, and his foolish attempts at dismissing the gravity of the situation to make Alec laugh. He always had a unique ability to make him laugh, even when Alec himself couldn’t see the positive anywhere.

“I know,” Maia sighs in front of him, leaning in to grab his hand and squeeze it gently. “And I’m sorry you had to cut your vacation short because people apparently think it’s okay to speculate about your life because you evolve in the public sphere.”

Alec shakes his head. “That was bound to happen, I work in politics,” he replies. “I just didn’t expect it to take this kind of proportion. My fucking doorman asked me about it when I made it back from Seaside last night. I got an email from that NYU kid who asked me to come to talk to the young democrats there in a couple of weeks to tell me that he would expressly ask the attendants not to ask me questions about my private life. And I don’t even want to talk about the column Lorenzo Rey wrote in the New York Times implying that I was more worried about my relationship with Magnus than about the city where I’m running for mayor. As if we both didn’t know this asshole is still bitter that Magnus rejected him when he hit on him after interviewing him all these years ago.”

A beat passes, and Alec exhales sharply, opening and closing his fists as he lets his nerves seep through the movement, urging the tension in his muscles away.

“Feeling better?” Maia asks, a small smirk on her lips.

“Yeah,” Alec sighs. “I’m just… gonna go home and crash in front of a movie and try to forget about this whole thing for one night.”

Maia nods, reaching out to tug his hair out of his eyes with a sympathetic smile. “Do you want company?”

“No, I’m good,” Alec says, rising to his feet. He shrugs his jacket on, adjusts the collar of his shirt. “I know you and Helen have probably come up with a plan already that you’re not telling me about yet.” She opens her mouth to reply, but Alec cuts her off with a smile. “It’s alright. It’s your job to save my ass all the time, and although I don’t usually need you to, we both know I forget to think clearly whenever Magnus is involved. We’ll talk about your plan tomorrow. I just need some time to think this through.”

“Okay.”

Alec smiles at her, a small, ridiculous thing but all he can muster, and leaves without another word. Under normal circumstances, he would walk for a while, take advantage of the proximity with Brooklyn Bridge to cross it and take in the city he loves so much. At times like these, he questions why. What good did it bring him, to love this city and its sometimes bizarre, often passionate inhabitants? He wonders how different his life would have been, had he followed Magnus to Los Angeles. He doesn’t know what he would have done there, what would have betided of him. Surely, they would have hit a few bumps along the road too, but Alec would’ve made an everyday combat of ensuring his voice is legitimate to a hostile arena. And yet he loves it; the challenge, the struggle, and the overwhelming sense of achievement when he takes a win home.

He just wishes it came with the freedom of switching it all off every now and then, to be allowed to take a stroll back to his place, no matter how long the walk, and clear his head from it all without the need for a security team.

 Instead, he walks up to Underhill’s desk, and gives him a semblance of a smile.

“Can you drive me home, since me running for mayor apparently means I have lost the right to drive myself?”

Underhill chuckles, and grabs the car key from the top drawer of his desk. “Dramatic, much?”

The drive to his place is mostly silent. It is one of the things Alec appreciates the most about Underhill, the way he knows when Alec needs to talk and when he just needs to be alone with his own thoughts. Alec stares at his phone for the whole drive, wondering if he should text again. He hasn’t sent anything else since Magnus told him he’d call him, but Magnus hasn’t, and Alec worries.

He knows, deep down, Magnus is fine. If he wasn’t, with the state of their lives at the moment, Alec probably would have learned about it on Twitter, after all. But the radio silence is slowly driving him insane. He doesn’t know where they stand, has never truly had a clue for the past three years they have had this arrangement. They have sex, and they talk, about the deep stuff, the dark stuff Alec wouldn’t dare to mention with anyone but Magnus. Magnus knows his secrets, his desires and his fears, he knows about Alec everything he allowed himself to confess and more, and yet he is still here. He didn’t run away; he didn’t cast him out.

The only thing Magnus doesn’t know about Alec is the true nature of his feelings for him, and even that is not a certitude. Magnus must know, because he knows Alec, and so he must see that he is only ever truly himself when they are together, when all the pretenses fall and all that remains is them, just the two of them, and the ink on their backs, the memory of a bench in Boston.

“Alec,” Underhill says, and Alec lets his head lull to the side to look at him. “We’re here.”

Alec hums, and unfastens his seatbelt.

“If you need anything…”

“I know,” Alec says. “Thanks, Underhill. Good night.”

The doorman doesn’t try to pry into his private life this time, perhaps because he understood from Alec’s death glare the night before that it was extremely inappropriate, but he gives him a shy wave instead that Alec acknowledges with a quick nod. God, sometimes he wishes he wasn’t such a politician and he could hold grudges over petty things just for the sake of it. He is tired of being the better person and offering the other cheek. He wants to be mad too. He wants to yell and thrash and tell the whole world to fuck right off to hell and leave him be. Leave him to nurse the end of whatever he had with Magnus.

He’s tired, and he’s mad, because it isn’t fair that he keeps losing the best thing in his life for reasons beyond his control. It isn’t fair that it always comes down to the same thing: making sacrifices that rip out a part of his heart with no chance of ever getting it back, for the sake of salvaging a career that doesn’t make as much sense when his chest feels hollow.

He slides his key in the door and walks in, immediately stopping in the threshold when he sees that the lights of the living room are on. He contemplates on calling his security team for a moment, but the sound of bare feet walking to him makes it clear that he won’t have time for that, and he grabs an umbrella from the coat rail by the door, for lack of a better weapon, and rises up, ready to defend himself.

The footsteps get closer, until the light from the living room is overshadowed by a silhouette standing in the threshold, and Alec’s whole body relaxes at the sight of Magnus, donned in sweatpants and an old hoodie Alec recognizes too well, baring the Harvard logo and slightly torn at the sleeves by time and Magnus’ habit at picking at them when he’s nervous. It was Alec’s hoodie, once, but Magnus has had it for years. It took him a while after their breakup to realize it had disappeared, and even longer to find out that it was because Magnus had kept it.

“Magnus,” he breathes out, putting down the umbrella.

Magnus lifts an eyebrow. A smirk dances at the edge of his mouth, but it isn’t mirrored in his eyes as they meet his own, soft as always, but equally somber.

“Hey,” he murmurs.

Alec walks up to him, shifting on his feet, and he hates that he even hesitates to reach out, to seek the comfort he needs in Magnus’ touch, but he doesn’t know where they stand now, with a part of the privacy they jealously guarded out in the open for everyone to peer on. It has only been a few weeks since they last saw each other. They didn’t fight, but somehow it feels like perhaps they did. Hesitation creeps through his bones, clouds his mind and his judgement and Alec just stands there, gaping at Magnus like an apparition from a parallel timeline, like a sort of miracle. In many ways, it isn’t the first time Alec thinks so. It’s the first time in a long time that it stops him from dropping the facade and letting Magnus see him for the true essence of his core, however.

“Can we talk?” Magnus asks, too gentle, almost weary.

Alec’s heart clenches in his chest.

He wants to say no, to delay as much as possible the inevitable outcome of their conversation. They both know where this is going. They’ve talked about it before, offhandedly, like a far-off scenario made for the artworks Magnus deploys his talent for.

“Yeah,” he says instead, hating himself for being unable to protect his own heart when it comes to this man.

Truth is, Alec would repeatedly set himself up for heartbreak as long as it means Magnus is content when he goes to sleep at night.

It’s a good thing Magnus is his only exception, or he would have longed been devoured by the sharks he navigates with in his line of work.

Magnus nods, strolls back to the living room. He smells like expensive cologne and grief, and his movements are fluid and elegant but marked by an underlying sorrow Alec loathes entirely. His brown eyes, circled with a delicate amber, are intensely focused but honest and gentle. His hands say more than Magnus probably wants them to, but Alec knows him too well, the nobility of his heart, his reticence to be selfish even when he needs to, the beauty that lies beneath his carefully constructed mask.

Alec loves him, and it isn’t so hard to admit then, because only a fool would choose another path.

Sadly, he loves him enough to let him go –again– despite his heart’s desolation at the mere thought, and perhaps that makes him the biggest fool of them all.

They sit in Alec’s living room, a heavy silence settling over them, thicker even than the tension wafting amidst them. Magnus’ eyes are riveted on the keys in his hands, the one Alec recognizes too well from a couple of years ago. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, hesitating between pushing himself closer to Magnus or further away. In the end, he knows it doesn’t truly matter, for there is only one outcome possible to this conversation. Magnus traces the line of the keychain, nails picking at the edge of the Paul Rudd picture.

“I’m sorry,” Alec says eventually when the silence becomes too much for him to bear, although he isn’t quite sure what he is apologizing for.

Magnus frowns, and casts his gaze up on him. “You have nothing to apologize for,” he says unceremoniously. His eyes are firm, but Alec can’t quite see past the veiled sadness they contain.

“I know,” Alec sighs, running a nervous hand against the nape of his neck. “I just don’t know what to say.”

Words betray him. He stares into those cherished eyes, burning with a myriad of emotions he can’t comprehend and more that he can too well, and his lips refuse to move.

Alec knows words. They are usually his safe haven, his everyday accomplishment. He knows words to reassure and to defend, words to assert logic and to deconstruct an opponent’s argument. He knows how to use them, how to model them into shaping his ideas in a comprehensive whole. He knows their destructive power and their healing abilities, how they can convey care and passion, disdain and hatred. He knows they can paint pictures and awake ghosts that haunt at night. And yet he is mute now, faced with his own flaws, his own ineptitude to protect what words won over for him years ago.

With words, he could draw Magnus closer and tear down the walls he can feel erecting between them as they sit in silence. He could tell Magnus the true nature of his feelings. He could tell Magnus he loves him.

But what meaning would it have if he just throws the words out there, without a purpose behind them or a plan to back them up? What do they mean, if they’re not enough to keep them together? If they can’t survive tonight?

“Alexander,” Magnus says, tenderly, the way we greet an old friend, “when we talked about this, I don’t even remember how long ago, I didn’t think it would ever come to this point. It was simply a way for us to get grounded, but I never saw it as more than a hypothetical escape we would never have to use. And now… now, it’s real, and I don’t want to talk about it with Helen, or Maia, or whoever else is always butting into our lives and making decisions for us. I want to talk about it with you, and decide what to do with you.”

Alec nods, and brings one of his knees against his chest, angling his body towards Magnus. “Okay,” he murmurs. “The plan was to end this if it ever risked jeopardizing our careers, but we never talked about what we would do if we were exposed like this.” He releases a sneer, jaw flexing with irritation. “We probably should have. I’ve experienced firsthand how easily the most intimate details of your life can be exposed when you least expect it.”

There is compassion in Magnus’ smile, but Alec sees the wrath that flashes underneath. He was there, after all, when Alec was outed. He saw how Alec had to pick himself up after the shock, how he had to keep a smooth and polite facade despite the rage storming inside him when that choice was ripped away from him, how he swallowed his pride and his rancor and acted levelled and composed for the media instead of displaying the devastation it had caused. He was there that night, when Alec himself didn’t know how badly he needed him until he saw him standing on his doorstep, a look of pure sympathy on his features.

“I remember,” Magnus says simply. He shuffles closer, laying a comforting hand on Alec’s knee. “And I don’t particularly wish to see you like this again.”

“I’m fine,” Alec promises.

Magnus doesn’t look so certain, but he lets Alec have this one, smiling in lieu of an answer. “You’re in the middle of the most important campaign of your career,” he says instead, “and I don’t want to get in the way of that.”

“It’s too soon to know how this whole thing affected my campaign,” Alec opines, but he knows it’s a vain objection.

He’s rarely been as talked about in the media as he has in the past two days, and none of his appearance in the mainstream marketplace of ideas have been about his political views or the agenda he is trying to push forward. Every headline has been about Magnus, every tweet and every blog post. He’s even certain it is now the main topic of discussion in the corridors in Washington, or even in his headquarters. He has caught people in his team whispering to themselves and stopping when he came in sight a few times this week. He hasn’t addressed the issue with them any more than he did with the public, but he knows it is starting to become inevitable. He doesn’t know what the next polls will show, but they undoubtedly won’t be the results of his and his team’s hard work over the past few months.

“But I know you don’t want to run a campaign punctuated by gossip over your ex from college turned friend with benefits,” Magnus replies, tone flat. His hand falls from Alec’s knee, leaving his skin tingling.

“You know you’re more than that,” Alec retorts before he can stop himself.

Magnus shrugs, but his shoulders look too heavy to convey the nonchalance it was meant for. “Am I?” he asks, and Alec tries to school his features into the same kind of apathy. If this is all Magnus sees for them, all he can see them be, then this is what they are, and there isn’t much Alec can do about it. “There’s still months to go before the election, and no matter what the consequences of this whole mess are, you have time to turn this around,” Magnus continues without waiting for an answer. “That will be easier if I’m not in the picture.”

Alec almost laughs at the irony of it, almost tells Magnus that he is the whole fucking picture.

They’ve known each other for ten years, and even in the time they were apart, he has always been such a prominent part of Alec’s course through time that he can’t dream of a life that wouldn’t involve him.

But he knows Magnus is right. If this is all they are ever going to be, it is risky on too many levels. For his career, for his image, but mostly for his heart.

Magnus runs his thumb over the gloss metal surrounding Paul Rudd’s picture, and inhales sharply. His hands are still when he hands the keys over to Alec. His gaze is steady, but his eyes flash with sorrow when Alec doesn’t reach out for them.

He lays them in the space between them, and smiles up at Alec, sad and spurious and so painful Alec feels it like a punch in the gut.

“I’ll see you around, Alexander,” he says.

It seems to stir something in him, because Alec’s hand bolts forward to grab Magnus’ wrist before he can fully retreat.

Words can start wars and be their strongest weapons. They can build and destroy, and light a path out of the darkness.

It is a true injustice that Alec can’t find the ones he needs to mend what cannot be fixed, to ease their way into a solution that doesn’t sign another end for them.

“We should’ve stayed on that bench in Boston,” he murmurs.

Words can reveal more than they were meant to, and Magnus understands it, he who plays with them to whip up an audience, he who murmurs them in an onscreen lover’s ear and makes them resonate to a plethora of strangers, he who makes them come to life.

And yet, there are no words left for them to say, no more hope to launch into the air to salvage a relationship that was never truly one.

“Goodbye, Alexander,” Magnus says.

He hesitates for a moment, and then leans in, pressing a deep, almost harsh, devastatingly heart-wrenching kiss to Alec’s lips.

He leaves, and Alec finds himself staring at the spot where he sat, wondering if he was ever even there. The pain in his chest serves as a vicious reminder.

“Goodbye, Magnus,” he whispers into nothingness.

Words can lift up or tear down.

Alone in the immensity of New York, Alec crumbles under their weight.

.

**PARIS, JUNE 2017**

As the city slowly plunges into darkness, awaiting the starlight and the full moon it promises, Magnus watches from the balcony of his room at the Hotel George V as the Eiffel Tower melts into the scenery, its skeleton of metal projecting into the sky. The weather is particularly clement at this time of the year despite the fairly late hour, and Magnus lets himself enjoy the relative peace it brings, tuning out the sounds of traffic and the megalopolis frenzy.

It has been an odd day for him. Between the numerous interviews for the movie and pretending not to see Helen chastising the journalists before every single one of them to make sure his private life wasn’t so much as broached, and stumbling upon one of Ragnor’s old theater friends George in his hotel lobby in the late afternoon and trying to dismiss his offer of getting a drink without vexing him, it has been a bit of a trainwreck, to say the least. The evening has been calmer, but it is largely due to Magnus shutting out the rest of the world and pretending it doesn’t exist past the luxurious walls of his golden cage.

His phone tings with a new notification, and for a second, Magnus hesitates to check it. He wants to savor this, to forget about the world outside this breathtaking view, for the reality has been turbulent lately. He just needs a damn break for a night, away from press tours, regrets and second guesses.

Yet, he finds himself plucking his phone out of his pocket nonetheless.

Alec’s name flashes on his screen; it isn’t with a new text –they haven’t texted in the two weeks since they last saw each other– but a notification for a tweet. It isn’t a rare occurrence, Alec’s team tweets for him quite often after all, but Magnus hasn’t been able to bring himself to turn them off just yet. It is silly, he knows, but for as long as it takes him to heal, he will hold on to the few things he can before he finds it in himself to let go altogether.

Mentally berating himself, Magnus opens the tweet.

There’s a video with it, the thumbnail showing a frozen picture of Alec standing behind a podium, hands risen in front of him as he talks, looking positively dashing in a crisp black suit and dark green tie that bring out his eyes.

_Thank you to NYU and the College Democrats association for having me today. We had a great talk about what they look for in their representatives, affordable housing, and what equal opportunities means._

Magnus smiles, ignoring the sting in his chest, and scrolls down before he can do something stupid like retweet it and thus spur more madness around them.

The first reply is a polite answer from NYU, thanking Alec for joining them today, but the next one makes Magnus’ smile waver.

_yes, supporting affordable housing is great and you've got my vote but how about supporting our sanity by admitting you and Magnus are together?_

After that, it is just a compendium of replies that have very little to do with politics, and much more with Magnus than he would like.

_no mention of Magnus :((( what are y’all at NYU good for if you don’t ask the important questions?_

_@ nyu students, y’all had one (1) job #malec_

__

_Was Magnus Bane affordable too? Is that how you managed to convince him to bring attention to your pathetic campaign riddled with fake news?_

__

_The only shutdown I know is Alec Lightwood replying to his opponent’s claim that he was ‘very disappointed in Lightwood’s campaign’ with ‘I can’t say the same, because I had no expectations in the first place’._

__

_I don’t know if I’m more jealous of Magnus or Alec._

 

 _Less politics, more answers about you and Magnus_ _😩_

__

_If politics don’t work out, Lightwood should be a professor. Absolutely captivating, and so eloquent!_

_Only problem is that no one would be able to actually follow his classes because his face is too distracting._

_Touché._

__

_The question at the end about how he manages to relax with his crazy schedule? I know he said playing piano, but I think that might be a codename for Magnus._

_…….. y’all are scary._

__

_I liked Magnus Bane better when his fans weren’t interested in politics._

_I liked Magnus Bane better before he turned gay lol._

_We all liked you better when you were shutting the fuck up. And Magnus is bisexual, dipshit._

__

_me, trying to connect everything he says to his possible relationship with Magnus_

Magnus knew, because Helen told him, that things haven’t died down like they had hoped it would, but it seems to be an understatement.

This is far worse than what he and Alec had ever anticipated, or talked about. He walks back inside his hotel room, throwing his phone on the bed before he lets himself fall on it head first, muffling a frustrated cry into the silken pillow.

He wants to text Alec, tell him he’s sorry for no reason at all, tell him he misses him, tell him…

He doesn’t, and he won’t.

Sometimes, Magnus wishes he could turn back time, go back to March 2014 and tell his younger self not to get out of that car, not to go up to that hotel room. None of this would have happened had they been able to refuse each other just for that night. And yet, were he to relive it, Magnus doesn’t think he would be able to summon the strength to wish Alec a good night and leave it at that. There is too much history now, and there already was back then.

Had he been a better, smarter man, Magnus would have made the same choices, for there are forces that go beyond reason and consideration of righteousness.

He doesn’t like to think of it, but Magnus knows the course of his feelings for Alec runs too deep to be ignored or cast apart. It has been a part of his life for too long, has helped shape the person he is today and whom he keeps evolving into.

But if they want to be free, to be themselves without one another, they must also learn to walk alone. And although it is a path Magnus is weary to take on, he knows he has to. He can thrive on the anger the mere idea brings on. It is a vile thought, to be condemned to satisfy himself with loneliness in the time it will take him to move on. On all fronts, it is unfair, too.

Alec had managed, by the miracle of his benevolence, to vanquish the solitude Magnus had been too accustomed to. Even acknowledging the suggestively peculiar nature of their relationship, he knew he could count on Alec to chase away that feeling of loneliness that always lurks in a corner of Magnus’ mind.

And now he’s gone, and so Magnus is angry, at the world, at himself, perhaps a little at Alec too, although it isn’t warranted, and at the choices they made.

He isn’t sure it is such a bad thing, however. The rage protects him from the pain, devouring it until all that remains is him, laying alone in a hotel room in Paris, surrounded by darkness, exhausted but unable to sleep.

In the end, it all comes down to this: Magnus misses Alec, and even his wrath isn’t enough to cover it.

The sunset morphs into night, and then the hours pass, one after the other, time trickling by and never bringing the dreamless sleep Magnus longs for. His eyes are stationed on the ceiling, watching the shadows dancing with the feeble lights coming from outside before they get swallowed by heavy blackness.

“Don’t call him, don’t call him, don’t call him,” he tells himself repeatedly, every time his gaze drifts to the night table where his phone seems to be taunting him, cursing his own treacherous mind, too caught up in fatigue and primal urgency to weigh the pros and cons. Pros: Magnus misses his voice, his laugh, the smile he can fathom without ever doing it justice when they talk, the softness of his words. Cons: They are not supposed to do this anymore, rely on each other to face a night of hardships. If they are meant to walk alone, it has to extend to the path they trail in their dreams too.

There is a knock on his hotel room’s door, and Magnus startles, heartbeats skipping momentarily. He sits in his bed, listening intently but nothing happens for a few moments and Magnus is convinced it was all a figment of his overrunning and wearied mind when the knock starts again.

“Magnus, it’s me,” Helen’s muffled voice calls through the door.

Magnus clenches his fists tightly, until his nails dig into the palm of his hands almost painfully, and slips out of the bed, shrugging his silken robe on as he walks to the door. Helen’s eyes are heavy with sleep when they meet his own. She is clad in a pair of fluffy white pajamas and her hair is tugged back with a matching headband. She’s holding her phone against her ear, lips pulled into a solemn line.

“What now?” Magnus asks, but it is all lassitude and no heat. “The movie’s first numbers are disastrous? The color of the jacket I was wearing today has offended Twitter for some reason? Am I being accused of being part of the Illuminati because of my mother’s necklace? Or am I being framed for murder?”

Helen shakes her head, too used to his dramatic ways to take them for anything else but that, and jerks her chin towards his room. “Can I come in?”

Magnus nods, motioning her inside with an exaggerated flourish and bowing as she does.

Scoffing in amusement, she walks in and waits for Magnus to close the door behind her to gesture at the phone in her hand.

“It’s Maia,” she eludes, and Magnus’ stomach drops.

“Is Alec okay?”

“He’s fine,” Helen reassures him at once, before dropping her gaze back to her phone as she holds it between them and clicks on the screen. “You’re on speaker, Maia.”

“Hey, Magnus,” she says. She sounds tired, too, A quick glance at the clock on Helen’s phone tells Magnus that it is gone three in the morning, which means it’s past nine in New York, and Maia shouldn’t be working still –and he has no doubt that she is, or she wouldn’t be calling. This campaign is really going to drain both her and Alec, physically and mentally, if they don’t slow it down.

“What is it?” he asks, not bothering to hide the nervous tremor in his voice.

Helen yawns and rubs at her eyes by his side, and Magnus feels a pang of remorse at the knowledge that she is messing up her own sleeping schedule because of how much of a mess Magnus’ life has become lately. He wishes they could all just go the fuck to sleep and wake up to this whole thing being a cruel but awfully well designed joke.

“I just heard from one of my contacts at the Times,” she sighs. “She said they just had an editorial meeting with the politics team because one of them heard that Gosh Magazine bought some private pictures and they were discussing how to cover it once they’re out.”

“What kind of pictures?” Magnus inquires, tone riddled with dread. He already knows the answer, and he knows this is going to be yet another impediment in Alec’s campaign.

“Pictures of you and Alec in college,” Maia says, sympathetic.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Magnus blurts out, anger swelling up all at once, sending spasms of rage through his body. He closes his fists, urging all of his wrath to gather there for the time being, and levels Helen with as calm a look he can muster. “Don’t they have anything better to talk about? Who sold them?”

“We don’t know,” Maia says. “Anonymity of sources and all that.”

“We think we should release a statement,” Helen cuts in before Magnus can rage further against the so-called journalists who have decided to zero in on his private life as if it were a matter of great importance for the world to be informed of it. Why care about the rest of the world when the future mayor of New York might be more than just friends with actor Magnus Bane? Clearly, everything else has to be inconsequential.

Pursing his lips in irritation, Magnus blinks at her, and hums in acknowledgment. “No more ignoring it?”

“Clearly, it’s not going away,” Maia says. “Alec is writing a first draft right now. He’ll acknowledge the fact that you two were together in college and say that you remain good friends, or something like that. Something that will hopefully stop the speculations. We had to cut short canvassing two days ago because almost every person we visited ended up asking about you.”

Magnus pinches the bridge of his nose, inhaling deeply. “What if the speculations don’t stop even after we release that statement?” he asks, more to himself than the two super women continuingly working on what is best for them.

His question is met with silence, and he doesn’t push further. They don’t know, no more than he does. This is unprecedented for them, because they seem to be constantly battling enemies that come from every side, Magnus’ fans, Alec’s supporters, Alec’s opponents, unscrupulous journalists, and now college alumni. It never seems to stop, and it probably won’t, as long as things are left the way they are. A written statement won’t change anything unless it comes with actions.

And as much as Magnus hates the thought of it, he believes he has just the right thing.

“I think I have an idea,” he murmurs, defeated. “To salvage Alec’s campaign.”

“What is it?” Maia asks, just at the same time Helen frowns at him, whispering a ‘what about you?’ Maia can’t hear.

Magnus shakes his head and forces a reassuring smile to his lips as he gazes back at her. “It doesn’t matter,” he tells her lowly. “This could work.”

Perhaps it won’t help him sleep at night, or forget why he can’t, but he can sacrifice a few nights, and his heart’s desire, if it means it gets Alec out of his conundrum.

If there is anything noble to be said of love, Magnus supposes it lies in the sacrifices that are made in its name.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know you love me xoxo gossip girl
> 
> (next chapter might not be up on Wednesday coz your girl has a crazy busy week coming but it'll be up sometime during the week, promise)
> 
> Big thank you again to my boo Jackie for making the tweets coz technology and I have antecedents and now we stay away from each other.
> 
> Next time: a debate and a magazine, I haven't chosen the title yet coz I'm a serious writer.
> 
> All the love,  
> Lu.


	8. The wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A silence, ice cream and a cover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops

**NEW YORK, OCTOBER 2014**

“Can you please explain to me why we’re watching the local news channel? If I wanted to despair, I’d just look at your dating history.”

Magnus rolls his eyes and finishes mixing his cocktail, flipping Ragnor off over his shoulder. “Still less chaotic than your career, my friend,” he quips back, swirling around so that Ragnor doesn’t miss his positively smug grin.

Ragnor looks up from Catarina’s feet he is massaging on his lap to glare at him. “You’re a p–”

“Children,” Catarina cuts in, equally amused and chastising, “be nice.” She turns to Ragnor, lifting an eyebrow. “And we’re obviously watching the local news channel because they’re broadcasting the public hearing Alec is leading about the new equal employment opportunity bill they introduced last month; and that Republican douchebag who’s been crying for one as if it isn’t standard procedure claimed he would be there to, I quote, expose the truth behind their lies.”

“So basically, we’re watching to witness Alec destroy the Vice Douchebag because I hear it’s very good for the health,” Magnus replies.

“What Republican douchebag?” Ragnor asks, accepting the margarita Magnus is holding out for him with a grateful nod. “That doesn’t exactly narrow it down.”

“Morgenstern’s lackey, Blackwell,” she clarifies.

Ragnor hums, and turns to Magnus, quirking an eyebrow. “And since when do we care enough about Alec to watch what is sure to be the most boring televised event in history?” he asks, his tone too knowing for the implied subtlety he was going for. “I thought whatever history you had was ancient.”

Magnus shrugs, waving a hand dismissively as he joins them on the couch, but Ragnor stares at him pointedly.

“Maybe I’m just interested in politics.”

Ragnor snorts. “Or maybe that explains why you turned down George when he asked you out last week even though I know you two would be great together,” he says, deadpan.

Magnus purses his lips, knowing anything he will say might give away the fact that he and Alec have recently reconnected, in all possible meanings of the word. Ragnor knows him too well not to detect it if Magnus lies, and Magnus doesn’t really have an excuse to have turned down George that would sound believable to his friend. He’s nice, smart, ridiculously handsome and funny beyond reason, all strong grounds for Ragnor to have tried to set them up together. He and Alec have never talked about exclusivity, because that would bring them too far away from the sexual arrangement they have at the moment, but Magnus hasn’t been with anyone else for months, and doesn’t feel the need or the will to. He doesn’t think it would be fair to him or anyone else when he knows he is bound to compare every single interaction to the language Alec speaks with his body and his soul that suffices alone to stir a galaxy of feelings in Magnus’ chest.

In another lifetime, Magnus would have dated George without question. This lifetime, however, has already been permanently ingrained by Alec Lightwood. Whatever form their relationship takes, Magnus knows there is no escaping that.

“Leave him alone,” Catarina scoffs, poking Ragnor in the ribs with her toes. “And hush, it’s starting.”

The first part of the event passes fairly quickly. It’s mostly Alec talking, presenting the new bill for the crowd. It’s the first time Magnus truly watches him in his element. He has followed his career from afar, but he never went to check videos or things like that, too worried perhaps that it would make the hole Alec’s absence left in his chest a little wider. Magnus spent a long time after they went their separate ways trying to mend it, and even more energy on keeping potential temptations away.

Magnus works with words every day, and he recognizes the telltale signs of a great public speaker as soon as Alec steps on the stage. He faces his audience, head held high, looking tall and steady on his feet, but his body language showcases a certain openness and his smile is warm but not enough to convey anything but professionalism. He doesn’t speak too much, doesn’t lose his audience in an ocean of statistics and technical terms. His speech is economical but it reflects the most important points he wants to have come across. When jargon becomes essential, he uses metaphors to clarify it, but never treats his audience as if they were too unintelligent to understand.

He is well-spoken and eloquent, and Magnus is hit with a memory of Alec finding him backstage after one of Magnus’ theater rehearsal he had attended at Harvard, and asking him for private lessons, a smirk on his lips but determination in his gaze.

Alec has come a long way, and he has his own persevering, unrelenting self to thank for it. It makes pride flutter in Magnus’ chest.

And perhaps something akin to lust deep in his stomach, but they already agreed to see each other tomorrow night, so he will have to keep it tempered until then.

Then, the question period starts. Alec handles this just as smoothly as he did the speech. Ragnor has dozed off on the other side of the couch, and Catarina is playing some nebulous game on her phone, although she does comment or hum along to what Alec says every now and then. They were never the closest friends back in college. It was always Alec and Simon, and Magnus and Catarina, but they were still that; friends, and neighbors. They didn’t keep in touch after graduation, only emailing each other here and there from what Magnus has been told, but Magnus knows there is no lost respect between them. Alec admires her a lot, for her fierce will to take care of others through her work, of healing and mending and saving. Magnus suspects she commends the exact same qualities in Alec. It’s why she supports him, despite their fickling friendship.

Magnus is confident the whole thing will keep going seamlessly up until the microphone makes its way to Samuel Blackwell. He is a tall man, adorned in all black and matching black sunglasses that make him look like he’s either attending a funeral or a jazz concert later in the day. His blonde hair is slicked back and his lips are curved in a sneer that makes Magnus want to punch him through the screen.

Blackwell is well known to be among President Morgenstern’s close lieutenants. He has been a New York city councilman for a while, longer than Alec has, and Magnus knows he has made it a point to make Alec’s job considerably more difficult, much more so than he does with any other councilman or woman. Alec has told Magnus in confidence that he worried there was a deeper reason for Blackwell’s aversion, something less obvious than their divergent political opinions, but so far, Blackwell has always attacked him on a political front, albeit more violently than he does with any of their colleagues. It could be that Alec is one of the rising stars of his party, and is portrayed by the press as a young and dynamic alternative to Morgenstern’s bigotry. It could also be that Blackwell is simply a gigantic ass, in Magnus’ humble opinion.

“Mr. Lightwood, my fellow citizens,” he says, his tone as pompous and condescending as he looks, “you know I, of course, support any action in favor of equal opportunity–”

“I think your antecedents say otherwise,” Alec cuts in, with a polite but lethal smile that is belied by the flash of mischief in his gaze. Absently, Magnus thinks TV suits him, although it can’t quite do justice to how truly handsome Alec is in real life.

Blackwell deflates visibly, his mouth parting for a moment as he tries to come up with an answer, before he settles for an arrogant grimace that makes Magnus roll his eyes before the man has even talked.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I was already on the Council when you voted against several bills promoting equal opportunity,” Alec retorts without missing a beat. “So, if you’re going to talk to your fellow citizens, Mr. Blackwell, you should probably not start with a lie.”

Something shifts on Blackwell’s face, his gaze darkening, and Magnus straightens on his seat, frowning. Blackwell laughs, but the sound is devoid of humor. “I apologize, Mr. Lightwood, but I have to laugh. It’s just that it’s rich, coming from someone who has been lying to the public forever.”

Alec blinks, but the surprise on his face is short-lived. “You must be mistaking me for someone else, Mr. Blackwell. Perhaps one of your friends at the Circle.”

“Oh, I don’t think I am,” Blackwell replies. “You’re the only Council member I know who pretends to tell people the truth but lies to everyone about being gay.”

Magnus barely hears his own gasp over Catarina’s, before everything falls silent. Ragnor stirs awake but the angry frown on his face is enough evidence that he wasn’t fully sleeping. On the screen, Alec is frozen behind the podium, as if his brain and body are both refusing to cope with what just happened and stopped working altogether.

Alec tries to suck in a breath but it stumbles on his lips audibly in the mic and he licks them, his eyes darting to the side where Magnus imagines his team is standing, looking for help he doesn’t seem to find, because he turns back towards the audience, who is as muted by shock as he seems to be himself.

“That piece of shit,” Catarina exclaims, breaking the silence that has somehow spread to Magnus’ living room.

Magnus barely hears her, his heart pounding in his chest.

A pang of desolation stings across his whole body as he watches Alec standing there, alone, powerless, at a loss of words.

Alec is out, he tells himself. Alec was just outed, and he doesn’t know what to do.

And God, Magnus wishes he could be there with him, if only to punch Blackwell right in his arrogant face for what he just did, but mostly so he could hold Alec’s hand and comfort him through this ordeal. This isn’t how their relationship is supposed to go –not anymore– but Magnus can’t just sit there and watch as the man he used to love, and still cares too much for, crumbles on live television.

Magnus pushes trembling palms against his temples, trying to make sense of what is happening.

“I…” Alec tries, his voice trailing off slowly as if unwilling to carry the words for him. Magnus can see the fears tumbling upon him all at once, and his heart breaks at the sight.

“So,” Blackwell says, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, “are you not lying about that, Mr. Lightwood?”

“Can someone just get up and punch that damn son of a bitch in the face?” Ragnor snaps, uncharacteristically pugnacious.

Catarina nods in agreement, but Magnus can’t move a muscle, too focused on Alec’s every move.

He looks stricken, his skin slowly turning ashen as he stares at the room, his chest rising rapidly the only clue of the internal turmoil he must be experiencing.

“Come on, darling,” Magnus whispers under his breath. “You can do this.”

Alec had a plan to come out. He told Magnus all about it a couple of months ago, when Magnus asked him if he was thinking about it. He was meant to do it by the end of the year. He wasn’t going to make it a big thing, but he was going to define who he is in his own terms, as those things should go. And now that freedom is gone, and Alec is the one who is forced to put a brave mask on and act as if he hadn’t just been disrespected and defiled by a man for political reasons, as if his sexual orientation hadn’t just been used against him like a weapon, as if it was something for him to be ashamed of.

He stands tall on his feet, exuding more dignity than Blackwell could ever hope for, but even his best efforts at composing himself don’t manage to conceal the true disarray shifting into his gaze. And Magnus knows he doesn’t perceive it solely because of how fully he knows Alec, but that his dismay is plain to see for all.

“I am gay,” Alec breathes out finally, “and I never lied about it. I just kept it private, the way I chose to.”

The ‘until now’ that should follow is left unsaid, but Magnus reads it in Alec’s eyes with disconcerting ease.

His declaration is met with the same deafening silence, as if the room in front of him has frozen in shock. It is awfully bizarre, how time seems to slow down to accommodate the silences, and the seconds seem to stretch ruthlessly, leaving Alec standing in front of a mute audience, his chest rising uncomfortably fast as ever ticking second seems to be another moment for him to grasp the full reality of what just happened.

A long, merciless minute passes before he seems to regain control of his body, and he puts a hand over his heart as if to tame its undoubtedly wild pounding.

“Oh, Alec,” Catarina murmurs, a hand over her own chest, her features etched with sympathy.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Alec says, finally breaking the overwhelming quiet facing him. His voice trembles just a little as he takes a step back from the mic, tottering almost imperceptibly on his feet. “I will let my colleague Raj Patel answer the rest of your questions for today.”

Raj is at his side in a second, walking up from somewhere behind the tiny stage, a worried frown pulling his brows together. “Are you okay?” he asks softly.

“I-I feel sick.”

The words are murmured, but still too close to the mic, and Magnus can hear them as Alec steps away from the podium, staggering with shock. Raj pats his shoulder and although he seems to be wanting to help Alec get down from the platform, he doesn’t. Magnus knows Alec will be thankful for that later.

“I have to go,” Magnus says as he rises, abrupt but determined. “I-I need to–”

“You don’t have to explain,” Ragnor cuts in. “Just go, and tell your man we’re here for him if he needs anything, and by anything I do include finding that bastard to punch his perfect teeth out.” Catarina raises her beer bottle in agreement.

Magnus nods shakily, doesn’t bother to correct Ragnor or reassure them that he knows what he’s doing. Right now, he needs to be there for Alec and that is his only priority.

“Don’t forget to lock the door when you’re leaving,” Magnus tells them as he shrugs a trench coat on.

“We will,” Catarina replies from the living room.

Magnus is out of the door before he can hear what Ragnor is saying, but he is positive he doesn’t really want to know. The trip to Alec’s apartment is quite short, despite the stop he makes by Gristedes on his way there.

The doorman from Alec’s building greets him politely when he gets there, after doing a double take to make sure he isn’t seeing things, and Magnus waves in reply and walks straight to the elevator. The doors closed, Magnus inhales deeply and winces at his own reflection.

His hair is a mess, curling up on his forehead wildly. His eyeliner is smudged under his eyes, and the collar of his trench is askew, one side up and the other down. With a sigh, Magnus fixes it, and shrugs at the rest of his overall appearance. Alec has seen him in worse states, and it doesn’t really matter right now anyway.

He knocks on Alec’s door once, and then a second time, but there is no sign of life inside, no clue that Alec is just hiding in there and refusing to open it. Checking his watch, Magnus quickly does the math. He is certain Alec wasn’t allowed to leave at once, because his team must have certainly wanted to go through their strategy to deal with this beforehand. Plus, the meeting took place in Hell’s Kitchen, so it should take him at least half an hour to get home, which is what it took Magnus to make it here. So, he might as well wait, for Alec is probably going to be a while.

He ponders to himself that he should probably find something to do whilst waiting but his mind has already started losing itself to the construction of various scenarios for the evening ahead. There aren’t any cracks in the paint on the walls for him to focus on, or any neighbor dispute for him to eavesdrop on. The distractions are few, and Magnus is too anxious to let his mind rest on something as trivial as the imperfections that are unlikely to be found in such a luxurious building. There is no rest for him tonight anyway. He might be waiting here a while, but no matter how late Alec might come home, Magnus will wait.

He pulls out his phone, finding one message from Ragnor telling him he will tell his friend George that there is no need trying to ask him out again, and Magnus quickly rolls his eyes before opening the news feed from Twitter. It’s already filled with tweets about Alec being outed, and Magnus pinches the bridge of his nose, gritting his teeth.

He doesn’t want anyone’s word on it but Alec. Alec is the only one who should be allowed to set the tone for how to answer and react to this, and Magnus doesn’t care what anyone else has to say about it.

There is a special place in hell for people who think forcing someone out of the closet is a heroic act of exposing hypocrisy or even an act of activism, as Blackwell’s minions seem to be wording it right now. And if there is no such thing as hell, Magnus hopes some kind of justice comes around for Samuel Blackwell nonetheless. He hopes, and without regret, that he experiences what it is like to be stripped of dignity, privacy, and the ability to speak up for yourself in front of a crowd that has no reason to be on your side.

The ding from the elevator resounds to Magnus’ ears before he can lose himself to fantasies of hiring a private investigator to find out Blackwell’s darkest secrets and expose them in retaliation. The sight of Alec walking out of it, movements slow, head bowed and shoulders slouched, makes the wrath already raging in his chest increase and placates it at the same time, because this rage is not his own and this fight is not his fight, but Magnus is ready to act upon one or the other, or something else entirely, depending on what Alec wants him to.

Magnus composes himself, and forces himself to reply to Alec’s look of surprise with a small but inviting smile.

He shows him the plastic bag in his hand. “Pecan caramel ice cream,” he says hesitantly. “Your favorite.”

Now that he’s here, facing Alec, he isn’t sure he should have come. It isn’t necessarily his place to comfort Alec, not anymore. They’re not really together. They have been sleeping with each other occasionally for the past eight months, ever since that encounter on the balcony during Simon’s concert. And yes, maybe Magnus has made a habit out of it, calling Alec almost as soon as he lands in New York, but that’s all there is between them. Perhaps Alec doesn’t want to see him, or anyone for that matter.

“How did you know?” Alec asks. His voice is too small for his tall frame, feeble and trembling. It shatters Magnus’ heart more than he thought it would.

“I was watching it with Cat and Ragnor,” Magnus replies. “I… I wanted to be there for you.” He sounds dull, hollow, and perhaps he never should have come, not without asking whether Alec wanted him to beforehand. He should know better, he who knows Alec to the deepest unknown. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, mortified with himself. “I-I’ll leave you alone.”

He holds out the plastic bag in offering, feeling like the biggest fool in the world. Alec shakes his head. “D-Don’t. I… Stay,” he murmurs, glancing up to catch Magnus’ gaze. “Please.”

His hazel eyes are brimming with tears, and everything else becomes inconsequential.

“Oh, Alexander,” Magnus whispers.

He reaches out, hesitant, but Alec is crashing into him before he can fully retreat, burying his face in Magnus’ neck as the tears fall from his eyes and he lets himself collapse, holding onto him.

Magnus wraps his arms around his waist, stroking his back lightly. His hand trembles with every silent cry from Alec, at the rawness of them that can only come from a recent, unattended wound, the warmth of his breaths as he fails to steer them back into something steady despite his best efforts. They crash again Magnus’ throat, heavy and broken.

“I’m sorry, darling,” Magnus whispers in his ear. “I’m so sorry.”

It takes a while for Alec to calm down completely, and they spend the rest of the night in his living room, watching wildlife documentaries while sharing a pint of ice cream and years of a bond that seem invincible despite time flying by and hardships. Alec falls asleep eventually, his head pillowed on Magnus’ lap, and Magnus watches him with a smile, filled with sadness, adoration and a hint of nostalgia he shouldn’t allow himself, his fingers skimming lightly over Alec’s face, tracing the sharp line of his jaw, travelling through the hem of his ear and toying with his hair.

Even more so, he shouldn’t pick up his phone and text Ragnor.

_Yeah, tell him I said sorry. Not really looking to date right now. I have other priorities._

Alec snores softly in his sleep, the way he always does when his slumber is light and fragile, and Magnus decides right there and then that there isn’t much he wouldn’t be willing to do to protect Alec Lightwood. Even if it means he has to fall for that.

He’s done it before, after all. The chances are high that he will do it again.

.

**NEW YORK, JULY 2017**

Alec is perfectly fine with the way he and Magnus ended things. It was for the best, for the both of them. They had a good run, and they gave their best to each other, even though it wasn’t truly as a couple in the last years. They were friends, and more, and that was it.

Still, his heart sinks in his chest when he sees the cover of the magazine his doorman is reading when he gets home.

He grins up at him, blissfully ignorant. “Good evening, Mr. Lightwood.”

Alec nods curtly. “Hey, Bat. Can I borrow this?” he asks offhandedly before he can convince himself not to, pointing at the cover, almost squinting at the offensive adage of pink and yellow.

Bat’s smile broadens. “Of course! As long as you get me an autograph from Magnus Bane next time you see him.”

His smile is cheeky, playful, and Alec forces himself not to let his own falter. “I’ll be sure to do that,” he pledges, because it isn’t truly a broken promise if he never gets the opportunity to ask again.

With one last nod for Bat, Alec walks to the elevator, urging himself not to look just yet. He does as soon as the doors are closed, though, and regrets it immediately, a shard digging into his guts and twisting cruelly, hurting relentlessly with no hope for him to escape it.

He runs into his mother in the corridor, and she looks surprised to see him, as if he didn’t live here instead of her. He isn’t any less surprised, and he hastily rolls up the magazine, hoping she didn’t see anything. It would prompt questions Alec doesn’t wish to answer, and a sympathy he doesn’t feel he deserves. This whole mess is his own fault after all, for thinking he could ever trust himself to be anything but in love with Magnus.

“Alec!” she exclaims, smiling tenderly when he leans in to press a kiss to her cheek. “I was just leaving, I didn’t think I’d run into you, it’s not that late yet. I’m meeting Luke at the station, we’re having dinner after his shift.”

Alec nods, smiles, and doesn’t know what to say.

“Are you okay?” Maryse asks with a worried frown, fiddling with the keys to his apartment in her hands. It reminds Alec too much of the Paul Rudd keychain he has locked away in his night stand, and it makes something painful pang at his chest. “You look exhausted.”

“I am,” Alec admits, “which is why I’m coming home early. I need to lie down and have a full night’s sleep.”

“It’s not early, it’s seven,” she scoffs, too fond to come across as anything but eternally concerned and equally loving. “But yes, you do. And you also need a good meal. I left some lasagna in your fridge.”

Alec smiles gratefully. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her whatever appetite he may have had was stolen away when his eyes first landed on the magazine in his hand. It would have implications he doesn’t want to address just yet, even though his family has collectively tried to drop hints to know whether the media frenzy he has been facing since his relationship with Magnus, past and present, has become excessively public had any ground in reality or if it were yet another empty fare for the press to feast on.

“Thanks, Mom,” he says instead.

Maryse runs her fingers in his hair, plucking the few strands falling on his forehead away. “I can cancel with Luke and eat with you if you’d like. He will understand.”

Alec shakes his head. “Don’t. I’m just gonna eat and crash in my bed anyway,” he tells her, as reassuringly as he can muster.

“Okay,” Maryse says, although a hint of hesitation lingers in her voice. Her mouth is pulled in a tight, concerned line, but she quickly replaces it with a gentle smile. “Call me if you need anything, okay?”

“I promise,” Alec lies. He should truly stop doing that, making promises to others, or even to himself, that he cannot go through with.

She smiles, kisses his cheek, and disappears into the elevator.

Alec unlocks the door, walks into his apartment, and locks it again behind him.

And then, there is silence, and the eerie atmosphere that loneliness carries around, and the heartbreak that he can’t bear to fight again, because it would put an end to his mess, _their_ mess, and he isn’t quite ready for that.

He unfolds the magazine, looks at Magnus’ smiling face, and hurts.

He wonders if Magnus is truly happy, or if it is just him acting. Perhaps he has recovered already, and Alec is alone in this odd realm provided by the lonely walls of his apartment, remembering the sensation of Magnus’ fingers running down his spine or tracing the ink below his shoulder blade but forgetting the comfort and bliss each touch brought along.

He hopes Magnus is happy, and that his mind isn’t stuck on a vicious circle of missing him and false beliefs, and then missing him again.

Alec walks straight to the living room and crashes on the couch, turning on the TV as he toes off his shoes, unfolds his tie and gets rid of his jacket, rolling his sleeves up.

His phone tings with a new text. Alec grabs it, Jace’s name glaring back at him.

_Hey, bro. Mom texted us saying you looked down. Wanna go for a run in the morning? Been a while._

Alec had a treadmill installed in his headquarters, because he sometimes needs to push his limits that way after a stressful day, and he realizes with a sigh that it’s been an awfully long time since he last went for a run with his brother, or even since he last truly spent time with his family. He knows they don’t blame him for it. They support his campaign, and him, wholeheartedly and they know him too well. They know he is too stubborn to accept their help, and often too proud for their compassion, but they also know that there are other ways for them to be there for him.

So they cook him lasagna, and they offer to go for a run with him, and they drop by early in the morning to have coffee with him like Izzy does three times a week, and they stop by on their way back from a night shift to make sure he is going home to sleep in his own bed. It’s not perfect or ideal, and although they would assure him otherwise, Alec knows he should do better. But they make everything more bearable, and for all his faults they love him. There isn’t much more Alec could ask from them.

 _Yeah_ , he replies. _I’d like that._

 _I’ll be there at 7,_ Jace replies in the next minute.

Alec knows Jace is already scheming with Izzy so that she brings them breakfast at the exact time they will be back from their run, so that they can have breakfast together. So that he isn’t alone. And he loves them for it, but his heart still aches at the thought.

He remembers too well when Jace met Clary, how he kept saying that he had met the person he wanted to wake up with every morning for the rest of his life, and Alec had teased him for it, but he had thought, privately, that he had too. Magnus had smiled at him when Alec had told him all about Jace’s crush that evening, while they were settling in Alec’s cramped apartment to study, and Alec had felt like maybe, just maybe, Magnus had thought he had found that person too.

Before he knows it, his thumb is hovering over Magnus’ name in his contacts list. He smiles at the profile picture of Magnus grinning widely, holding the Chairman in his arms, and he presses call before he can stop himself.

He isn’t sure where Magnus is right now. Perhaps Europe, perhaps Asia. His press tour is probably still ongoing, and his schedule must be a nightmare, but for a moment Alec allows himself to pretend he can forgo all that and act like it is still okay for him to call Magnus, no matter the time in whatever foreign country he is currently in. He supposes he could learn that much by opening the magazine glaring back at him from his coffee table, or even his Twitter feed, but he can’t bring himself to check either of those, too afraid of what he might discover there.

Magnus answers on the second ring.

“Hello?” His voice is terse and distracted.

“Um, hi,” Alec says.

There is a sharp intake of breath over the line, and Alec’s heart rummages in his chest.

“Alexander!” Magnus exclaims, clearly surprised. “Sorry, I’m cooking and I didn’t look at the caller ID before answering.”

Alec hums in reply, unsure what to say. He wants to ask Magnus if he loves him, or if it was all a ploy from his own mind to set him up for heartbreak. He wants to tell him he misses him, and that his apartment feels empty without the stuff from Magnus’ drawer he had sent back. He wants to explain how receiving the box with his own stuff from Magnus’ apartment felt an awful lot like pressing a knife into an open wound.

He says none of that, and everything else instead.

“Do you remember that time your father visited you on campus and we went to dinner together because you wanted to introduce me to him?”

 Magnus snorts, but it is derisive. “How could I ever forget that disaster?”

“He hated me,” Alec says, feeling a smile spread on his lips.

“Only because you were so nervous you spilled wine on his white shirt,” Magnus teases, the smile evident in his own voice.

“He hated me before that,” Alec opines. “He just laid his eyes on me and his mouth did that twitching thing.”

“Yeah, okay, he did,” Magnus says, before letting out a soft chuckle. “You grew on him, though.”

Alec laughs, self-depreciative. “No, I didn’t.”

“You did!” Magnus argues vehemently. “He called me the other day, which was weird because he never calls me and only communicates through overly formal emails, and he asked about you. Which was totally his way of telling me he didn’t approve of the statement we released about us dating in college but still. Progress.”

“Only took me ten years,” Alec scoffs, and winces when he realizes the implication behind his words. “Anyway,” he rushes out, because he can almost see the look of shock on Magnus’ face, “do you remember what you told me that night, when we went back to your place?”

For a while, only silence answers him. It stretches, and stretches, and Alec would wonder if Magnus had hung up could he not hear him breathing in the phone. He chews on his bottom lip, urging himself not to fill the void with more unwarranted nostalgia.

“I do,” Magnus replies eventually.

Alec had been disgruntled, feeling drained and impossibly sad that the only family Magnus had left had glared at him in lieu of a goodbye and very heavily implied that he did not approve of Magnus’ choice to pick an idealistic, wannabe politician for a partner when Asmodeus Bane’s son could so clearly do so much better.

 _Fuck what he thinks,_ Magnus had said with the verve of their young years. _Fuck what anyone thinks. I love you, and I’m pretty sure that’s a choice I ought to make myself, and not anyone else._

Alec wishes it had stayed that easy. That a statement would suffice, and that everything else would be rendered trivial in the face of their affection.

He wishes he could say ‘fuck what they think’, but growing up has taught him to care too much about what people think, and to put his own worth in the hands of strangers.

“Alexander,” Magnus says, soft, and tender, and so incredibly impudent. “Why did you call?”

Alec inhales sharply, and leans back into his couch to stare at the ceiling. “I had a long day,” he says, “and a long month.” He pauses, exhales, and curses himself inwardly. “I saw the pictures. In that garbage magazine.”

A minute is an impossibly long time when it is spent in silence. The seconds seem to stretch as if to tease him, messing further with the already chaotic direction his life has taken.

“I’m sorry, Alexander,” Magnus replies. His voice isn’t exactly cold, but it is distant, restrained. Alec’s stomach lurches. “I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I–” Alec starts, but cuts himself off, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Don’t apologize,” he breathes out instead. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called. I just… I just wanted to talk to you for a bit.”

Another beat passes. “I’m glad you did,” Magnus admits. “I watched a documentary about meerkats on the plane two days ago and I wanted to text you too but…”

His voice trails off at the end but Alec doesn’t let either of them linger on it.

“Where are you now?” he asks, with an airiness and nonchalance he doesn’t feel. “Still Europe? Tokyo?”

He hears the hesitation before Magnus even talks. “I’m in New York.”

Alec grits his teeth, urging the bitter taste of disappointment away.

“Oh.”

“George’s new show premieres tomorrow,” Magnus eludes, as if Alec needed to know that. He doesn’t want to know, doesn’t want to hear the name pass the barrier of Magnus’ lips and make this whole thing real and more than just a front cover of a tabloid magazine. “I promised I would attend.”

“Okay,” Alec says flatly. He isn’t sure what else to say, and feels naive for even hoping for a moment that it was all fake, the mere product of his exhausted mind.

“I should…”

“Yeah,” Alec cuts in. “I should go to sleep. I’ll let you go back to your dinner.”

“Have you eaten anything?” Magnus asks, because he knows Alec too well. It is for the same reason that Alec can picture the concerned crease of his eyebrows.

“Yeah,” Alec lies. “My mother left me lasagna again.”

“Good.”

The next silence is awkward, and Alec hates it, and Magnus, and George, and anyone who was involved in this whole mess. Mostly, he thinks, Alec hates himself for it.

“Have fun at your premiere,” he says, the words heavy on his tongue, struggling to come out.

“Thanks, you too,” Magnus says distractedly, before he must realize how ludicrous that sounds because his voice is strained when he talks again. “With your campaign. Have fun with your campaign.”

Alec snorts. “I’ll try. Goodbye, Magnus.”

“Goodbye, Alec.”

There is a lot more to a name than just that, Alec knows. It can forge an identity, bear the meaning of a thousand words. In Magnus’ mouth, this name sounds almost formal, detached in a way Alec never thought they would find themselves to be with each other. Even in the years they spent apart, Alec doesn’t think Magnus ever called him by anything but his full name. Back in their Harvard years, he would use it when they fought, or when the long hours of working and study would finally take a toll on his mind and leave him too exhausted for patience. Hearing it now stings in ways Alec can’t grasp or comprehend; it should be just a name, his own, the essence of who he is. Somehow, it is much more than that.

It’s a wall, hoisting itself up between him and Magnus, standing tall and impenetrable.

The apartment is cold and deserted, and loneliness gnaws and feasts and Alec drowns in memories he wishes he could conjure out of his mind. He walks to the piano and plays, and for a moment in time, he dreams.

He dreams of a bench in Boston, of coordinates inked into their skin.

He dreams of what life would be, if he cared solely for that.

It is but a dream, and Alec can only stare blankly into nothingness as the world falls apart around him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *waves white flag frantically*
> 
> i'm on twitter and tumblr and blahblahblah
> 
> Big thank you to my boo Jackie for letting me use her infamous Gosh Magazine. If you don't know where it's from, you should go read [A Royal Affair](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16339319) like right now.
> 
> Next time: the Paul Rudd keychain.
> 
> All the love,  
> Lu.


	9. The Paul Rudd keychain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fighter, a codename, and an unwelcome visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please use #lecrit if you're live-tweeting so I can keep track of your reactions.
> 
> Happy (?) reading!

**NEW YORK, OCTOBER 2014**

Magnus realizes three things upon waking up. One, his feet are freezing. Two, his neck hurts from the uncomfortable position he fell asleep in. Three, he really doesn’t care.

Alec’s arms are wrapped tightly around him, his own arms tangled around Alec’s waist, and his head is buried in his neck, Alec’s cheek resting against his hair. His breathing is slow and steady, and Magnus immerses himself into it, lets it lure him into a sense of peace.

It is short-lived, but Magnus savors every second of it before Alec awakes too, his hold tightening slightly around Magnus as he huffs out a breath and blinks his eyes open.

“Morning,” he murmurs in Magnus’ hair, and he doesn’t make a move to look into his eyes. His voice is hoarse, raucous,  lost somewhere between slumber and consciousness. It sends a satisfying shiver down Magnus’ spine.

“Good morning,” Magnus replies, smiling sleepily. “How are you feeling?”

He immediately regrets asking. Alec’s whole body tenses as he seems to remember what happened the night before, and he sighs heavily.

“I’ll be okay,” he says, his hand letting go of Magnus’ waist to rub at his eyes.

“I know you will,” Magnus says with all the confidence he can muster. If he knows Alec at all, he has to believe he will pull through, just like he always does. 

Alec is a fighter, never staying down when he falls or gets knocked out and although this is on another scale entirely, Magnus knows he will rise back up and inspire people to do the same in the future. He holds that kind of strange power on people, which is partly the reason why he makes a good politician.  Even before they started dating, Magnus would often find himself getting lost to the passion of Alec’s heart, and galvanized by his unwavering faith when it comes to doing what feels right. Alec doesn’t compromise his ideals, even less so when it comes to who he aspires to be as a person, and it is a big part of why Magnus knows he will come out of this victorious in the long run.

It doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting right now, when the wound is still so fresh it might be raw, exposed to the unforgiving bite of people’s cruelty.

Sighing, Magnus pulls back, sitting on the couch where they fell asleep the night before and yawning inelegantly. Alec scoffs at the sight and reaches out absently to map the coordinates inked below Magnus’ shoulder blade with a soft, pliable smile.  It’s a small thing, but it’s sincere, strong despite the circumstances, and it leaves Magnus in awe of the man he already foolishly believes he knows by heart but still manages to surprise him every step of the way.

Alec Lightwood is more than a fighter; he is both warrior and guardian, redefining what it means to be good even when the odds would want him to stir away from that path. Magnus wishes people would see what he does, how he deserves so much more than what he is given and yet never complains.

“I hope there’s something in your fridge because I’m cooking us breakfast,” Magnus announces, poking his ribs playfully.

“There’s eggs and bacon,” Alec replies, stretching lazily, his spine popping with a noise that makes Magnus grimace but has him sigh in relief. It also makes his t-shirt ride up his stomach, exposing the soft skin there and Magnus smirks, running an idle thumb around Alec’s navel before he rises from the couch.

“Eggs and bacon coming right up,” he says loudly, and walks away, smiling at the sound of Alec grunting and collapsing back on the couch.

Alec pads into the kitchen ten minutes later, eyes still heavy with slumber, lured in by the aroma of bacon. He smiles sleepily at Magnus, walking to the coffee machine to turn it on.

“Still a cloud of milk and one sugar?” he asks.

Magnus looks up from the pan at him and nods, a bit dazed. It occurs to him that it’s the first time since they started the arrangement they have now that they have breakfast together. It reminds him of a time, years ago, when Alec would whine in his ear in the morning about not wanting to get out of bed but eventually doing so when Magnus would start making breakfast, just so he could wrap his arms around Magnus’ waist  and finish to wake up in the crook of Magnus’ neck. It reminds him of waking up to the smell of Alec’s French toast after Magnus had a long night of studying.

It makes him smile this morning, and it is void of the nostalgia thinking back of their time together at Harvard usually carries along.

“How long did you wait for me last night?” Alec asks. His voice is a bit off, distant, as if he doesn’t want Magnus to know how much he cares about the answer, but Magnus knows. He always knows, when it comes to Alec, and it can be as much of a curse as it is a blessing.  Knowing all the nuances of lilt and depth his voice can bear means it is incredibly effortless for Magnus to detect it when Alec is hurt or distressed, and that knowledge never fails to fill him with anger against whoever is responsible for it.

“I don’t know,” Magnus says offhandedly, hoping it will alleviate some of Alec’s worry.

“The ice cream was almost completely melted,” Alec says matter-of-factly.  He isn’t looking at him, focusing on the coffee slowly filling their cups, but Magnus can hear the hint of a smile in his voice. 

He rolls his eyes, swirling around to point the spatula at Alec accusingly. “Why do you ask if you know the answer?” he says, gaze narrowing on him. Alec shrugs innocently, but doesn’t reply. “I waited for an hour or so,” Magnus admits reluctantly, turning back to the stove. “It’s not a big deal. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Alec looks like he’s about to argue, but he glances at Magnus, his face softening, and he smiles. “Thank you, Magnus.”

Magnus winks, and scoops the bacon onto two plates next to the fried eggs, before carrying them both to the table, just as Alec puts down two fuming mugs of coffee.

Magnus sits, and lifts an eyebrow when Alec doesn’t do the same.

“I’ll be right back,” he says, before dashing out of the kitchen, leaving a puzzled Magnus behind him.

Shaking his head, Magnus takes a sip of coffee, and sighs in delight. It’s perfect, just the way he likes it, and he thinks he should perhaps be worried that Alec knows him so well, knows the intricacies of his mind and every single one of his likes and dislikes but, truth be told, he doesn’t think he cares that much. It’s odd, undoubtedly, but it’s also comforting in a way, to have someone know him so well and yet still welcome him entirely, with nothing but smiles and fondness.

Alec is back quickly, and he sits in front of Magnus without a word, chewing on his bottom lip, looking decidedly less comfortable than he was a minute ago.

Magnus knows that look in his eyes, and this is why he leans over the table to catch his gaze before Alec can spiral down into self-doubt and lose himself into overthinking whatever this is.

“What is it, Alec?” he asks gently.

Alec purses his lips, and holds out his open palm. In there rests a keychain, two keys attached to it.

“So that you can just come in next time,” he blurts out. “It doesn’t have to mean anything,” he adds in a rush before Magnus can so much as open his mouth, or wrap his mind around it. “It’s just that I have a spare key and you’re starting to be around here more often and we’ve seen each other quite a lot lately and… yeah.”

Magnus watches as he heaves out a deep breath, brows creased into a frown, and reaches out to pluck the keys out of Alec’s hand. “I will–” he starts, but stops abruptly as his eyes fall on the keychain. It’s a gloss metal rectangle, and inside is a picture of Paul Rudd in all his perfect son-in-law glory in that renowned scene from Clueless, nibbling on a pencil. Magnus forgets what he wanted to say, a laugh slipping out of his mouth instead as he sends Alec a taunting look,  holding the keychain up with a knowing smirk.

A blush blooms on Alec’s cheeks. “It was a gift from Simon,” he grumbles sheepishly.  “Because of some stupid shit I said once when I was drunk about Paul Rudd in that scene. I don’t even remember it but Simon hasn’t let me live it down.”

“Hey, I’m not judging,” Magnus replies, biting on his bottom lip to hold back a laugh. “He’s a sexy man, and if that’s what you’re into, maybe we can roleplay one of these days. I promise I won’t bite.”

Alec glares up at him, and he looks almost intimidating despite his flushed face.  “This is exactly why Simon shouldn’t be my best friend.”

“I love it,” Magnus says, running his thumb over the picture with a snort. “It can be our codename. Next time I’m in town, I’ll just text ‘Code Paul Rudd’ to you and you’ll know I’m coming over.”

Alec rolls his eyes and throws his napkin at Magnus’ face,  glowering . “I liked the regular ‘wanna fuck’,” he says flatly.

Magnus dismisses him with a flourish of his hand. “Please, that’s so mundane. Paul Rudd it is.”

“No.”

Magnus lifts an eyebrow in challenge. “Do you think you can stop me, darling?”

Alec glares harder, and sighs heavily, stabbing his fork into a piece of bacon. “You’re the worst,” he mumbles through a mouthful.

“You weren’t saying that the last time we had a round of Paul Rudd,” Magnus quips.

“Stop it,” Alec scoffs, but  he is quite obviously holding back a laugh, and he doesn’t look half as annoyed as he probably aimed to. 

They finish their breakfast between small talk and laughter, and Magnus tries not to let the relief show on his face. He knows it’s only temporary, and that soon Alec will have to go out and face the world. And if the ugly reality that awaits him is scary for Magnus, he can’t imagine how terrifying it must be for Alec.

Some day, Magnus was propelled into fame by a role in a popular TV show and another in an indie movie that made its way to the Oscars by some wonderful twist of fate, and the next thing he knew, there were paparazzi waiting for him outside the gym he frequents in Los Angeles, and people asking him for autographs and pictures when he went grocery shopping. He has always managed to keep it under control and not let it become overwhelming. Magnus came out publicly on his own terms and quickly, and even in these circumstances, he had to deal with some unflattering comments and outright bigotry. In the world of politics, he can’t fathom what the next few weeks, if not months or years, are going to be like for Alec.

New York is waking up with them, and with it the news of Alec being outed will spread further, and there is no going around it.

Alec takes their plates when they are done eating, puts them away in the dishwasher and cleans the pan Magnus used in the sink.

Magnus’ heart twists as he watches him, leaning against the counter next to him, and he smiles when Alec turns off the water and darts his eyes to him.

“What?” he says, but he’s smiling too. It makes his eyes crinkles at the side, and the hint of a dimple appear on his nose. He looks considerably more relaxed than he did the night before, or even upon waking up, and for a moment, Magnus wishes they’d never have to leave the safety they revel in between the walls of Alec’s apartment, shunned away from the rest of the world.

“So,” Magnus says, lips curving into a smirk, “Paul Rudd?”

Alec rolls his eyes, and pushes Magnus against the counter, gentle but firm, gripping his top in a strong hold. “We are  _ not _ using this as a codename for sex, Magnus,” he mutters against his lips, before crashing their mouths together.

Magnus chuckles against his lips, slipping a hand under Alec’s t-shirt to feel his skin, tugging him closer. “We’ll see about that,” he replies tauntingly.

Alec doesn’t reply, and doesn’t let Magnus get another word out either, pressing into him and promptly making him forget about anything that isn’t him, his lips or his hands.

The outside world can wait for a few more hours to catch up on them. It could wait far longer than that, if Magnus had any say in it.

.

**LOS ANGELES, AUGUST 2017**

“Come on,” Magnus chokes out, tears trailing down his cheeks. “Come on, stay with me.”

“Please,” the man laying in his arms replies in a feeble whisper. “Tell Eva—”

“You’ll tell her yourself,” Magnus cuts in, shaking his head. “You’re gonna go home and you’ll tell her yourself. We’ll get you out of here. It’s going to be alright.”

There is determination and rage in his voice, but Magnus doesn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth himself. He knows it is too late. There is no way they will get Nick back in time and even if they do, the risks of infection are too high and their means too precarious. Nick is going to die, right here in enemy’s territory, and his body will most likely have to stay behind, because they can’t afford to carry his corpse with them, not in the dangerous waters they are in. The enemy is everywhere around them.

“It’s going to be alright, Nick,” Magnus repeats weakly, wiping his running nose on his sleeve, his hand immediately returning to put pressure on Nick’s wounded stomach. His fingers are already covered in blood, as is his uniform.

“Mike,” he says, blood dripping down his chin. “I want to go home.”

“You will,” Magnus sobs. “You will.”

“I don’t—” he whispers, but the words die on his lips with his last breath.

“Nick,” Magnus calls, voice breaking in both despair and agony. “Nick!”

Tears spill from his eyes freely, choking him on their way out, knocking the air out of his lungs. Nick’s body has gone limp between his arms. His eyes, wide and open, are staring at the ceiling, devoid of the smile they had held two days prior when they had sat around a table playing cards, feasting on a can of beans they had dug out of a dusty cupboard.

“You’re home now,” he whispers, reaching out to shut Nick’s eyelids. “You’re home now.”

Silence wraps around him, ruthless in its potency, and Magnus keeps crying.

“And cut!”

Alaric opens his eyes and grins up at Magnus, pushing off his lap and back to his feet. “Great job, man,” he says, extending a hand to help hoist him up.

“You too,” Magnus says, sending a grateful smile to Helen as she joins them and holds him out a tissue. He pats it over his cheeks, getting rid of the remaining tears under his eyelids, and takes a long gulp of the water she gives him.

“Don’t freak out,” Helen whispers, leaning in so that only he can hear her, “but your father is here.”

Magnus sputters on the water in his mouth, almost choking on his own spit. “What?” he hisses, and turns to see in the direction she’s pointing over his shoulder.

His father is standing there indeed, looking characteristically bored and overdressed. He stands straight on his feet, both hands holding the knob of his cane. His dark eyes narrow as he takes in the chaos around them, as familiar to him as it is to Magnus who has been on more film sets than he can count. His lips purse in disgust when an assistant walks by him with a tray full of carefully wrapped sandwiches.

Magnus turns back to Helen with a dumbfounded expression. “What the fuck?” he whispers.

“I don’t know,” she replies, raising both hands defensively. “He just showed up, asked to talk to me and then basically ordered me to let him through so he could see you.”

Magnus makes a sound of annoyance in the back of his throat and throws her a defeated look.  If there is one thing he is certain of, it’s that if his father has decided to see him, he won’t leave until he does. That’s how their relationship has always worked, Magnus taking the breadcrumbs Asmodeus was willing to give him with an unwarranted enthusiasm that the years of desillusion turned into forced smiles and mumbled bitterness. “Wish me luck.”

“Good luck,” Helen replies at once, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. Whether it is in comfort or to give him the strength he inevitably needs to face his father, Magnus isn’t sure.

He walks to Asmodeus with decided steps, urging himself not to appear as shocked as he is. It would be showing vulnerability, and Magnus knows better than to show the slightest hint of weakness in front of his ruthless father.

“My boy,” Asmodeus says sternly when he reaches him, nodding in greeting.

“Father,” Magnus replies, clearing his throat. “What are you doing here?”

He tries not to let the obvious irritation come through his tone, but Asmodeus’ creased brows are a rather clear sign of failure.

“I’m in Los Angeles for business,” he says, evasive as ever. “My assistant told me you were here too, so I came to have lunch with you.” He’s had the same assistant for years, Azazel, but he still hasn’t learned his name, and Magnus truly pities the poor fool. Asmodeus’ gaze darts over the set, taking in the artificial trenches before settling back on Magnus’ sergeant costume, filled with fake blood from Alaric’s character. “But you should get changed first.”

Magnus rolls his eyes. “This is LA,” he tells him matter-of-factly, “I can assure you no one’s gonna bat an eye if I’m wearing a costume with fake blood on it. I once had dinner next to a zombie.”

He will be damned if he gives his father the satisfaction of putting an effort for him when Asmodeus never has.

His lips purse in disapproval, but Asmodeus nods curtly, and swirls around, walking away without another word. Magnus sighs, waves at Helen with a grimace, and follows.

Asmodeus leads them to a car waiting for them in front of the studio, and Magnus climbs in after his father, feeling grim and twisted satisfaction when the dust from his costume spreads all over the leather seats.

The driver takes off without needing instruction, and they drive in silence for about five minutes. Magnus watches the familiar roads, thankful the traffic isn’t too dense at this time of the day. He wants to be done with this as quickly as possible.

“I tried to see if your new boyfriend would be joining us but my assistant told me he was in New York,” Asmodeus says sternly.

Magnus’ head jerks to the side to face him, lips parted in shock. “What?”

“George, is it?” he says conversationally, as if he needed any confirmation.

Magnus nods, lost for words.  This isn’t a conversation he wants to have with his father, not now, not ever. Or anyone else, for that matter.

“How come he’s not here with you?”

Of course, Magnus rarely gets what he wants, and even more so when it comes to his father.

“He has a job,” Magnus says patiently. “On Broadway.” Asmodeus scoffs, but Magnus chooses to ignore it. “And I told you to stop researching the people I date,” he grumbles instead.

“It’s not like I have much researching to do,” Asmodeus retorts. “Your private life is plastered all over those trashy magazines.”

Magnus grunts, pinching the bridge of his nose and shutting his eyes as he takes in a deep breath. “Is that why you truly wanted to have lunch with me? To scold me about appearing in tabloids?”

He isn’t disappointed, he tells himself. He can’t be disappointed when he didn’t have any expectations in the first place. He has long given up on mending his relationship with his father, and it would be foolish of him to hope for anything other than the coldness his many efforts have all been rewarded with.

“Of course not,” Asmodeus replies, dismissing his comment with a flourish of his hand. “I wanted to catch up with you, that’s all.”

Truth is, Magnus knows his father will never be the person he so desperately wanted him to be for so long. His words will never carry the substance he wishes they did. At the end of the day, they are mere strangers who share the same blood.

He has made his peace with that, but somehow it still tears at his heartstrings when Asmodeus tries to pretend he cares even just a little, if only because it reminds Magnus of a time where he still believed the two of them could be better for and to each other. Magnus succeeded at many things in his life, but this is one of the few he failed spectacularly.

The car comes to a stop, and Magnus dashes out after his father. He needs to finish this quickly, so he can go back to set, be terrible all afternoon because he will undoubtedly be in a dreadful mood, and then go home and  perhaps get drunk while wallowing into  how miserable and lonely he is.

“Sounds like a plan,” he mumbles under his breath as he follows Asmodeus inside a restaurant that is far too fancy for the occasion.

A waiter in a tuxedo guides them to a secluded table in the back, not even blinking at Magnus’ attire, and Magnus takes a seat in front of his father, dread twirling in his stomach.

“So, does he stay at your apartment in New York or does he have his own place?” Asmodeus asks airily as his eyes drift over the menu.

Magnus barely resists the urge to slam his head against the table and yell in frustration. “He has his own place,” he hisses through gritted teeth. “We’ve been together for a month, of course we don’t live together.”

“All I’m saying is that it doesn’t seem like he has a very stable situation.”

“Neither do I,” Magnus reminds him, quirking an eyebrow in challenge. “Who says my career won’t be over next year? This industry is unpredictable.”

“You’ll be fine,” Asmodeus scoffs, as if the mere idea of Magnus suffering from the hardships Hollywood is paved with is ludicrous. “You’re resourceful,” he adds, in a tone that suggests Magnus should be thanking him for that.

Perhaps he should, he ponders to himself. He wouldn’t be the man he is today if he hadn’t been the lonely child going from nanny to nanny, desperately waiting for his father to give him the attention he craved from him, or the even lonelier teenager, who had turned to the art of living as someone else out of habit of pretending he wasn’t affected by his father’s absence.

Asmodeus shrugs when Magnus doesn’t reply, clearly unbothered by his son’s pent up irritation. “Well, you always had a thing for strays,” he comments.

The word alone is enough to make his body spasm with the need to slam his fist on the table and demand silence but Magnus knows the relief will be momentary, and that it will only make his father sigh in disappointment.

He inhales sharply, and puts down his menu to glare at his father. “Of course,” he says, deadpan. “I should have known this was about Alec.”

The waiter is back at their table to take their order before Asmodeus can reply, and Magnus forces himself to smile at the man, the slight spark in his eyes telling him that he has been recognized, and that their waiter is likely a fan, his hand shaking gingerly as he pours Magnus a glass of wine yet another clue.

With no possibility to hide behind the menu left, his father’s eyes rivet into his own as soon as they are alone again.

“Did you even have business in LA or was this all a ruse to remind me you don’t like him?” Magnus asks, holding his gaze with matching fervor.

“Who said I don’t like him?” Asmodeus says, scornful.

“You, after every single time you ever met him,” Magnus fires back.

Asmodeus gives him a pointed look, one that is meant to make Magnus feel smaller than he is. It used to work incredibly well, but Magnus has grown out of the boy his father had tried to confine him to, and it doesn’t affect him anymore.

“I never said such thing,” he responds, as if the idea itself is ridiculous. “All I said is that you deserve better than a wannabe politician with too many ideals to be clever about the world he evolves in.”

He’s about to go on, but Magnus cuts in, fuming. “You have no idea who he is,” he grits out. “You never made an effort to find out. But I wouldn’t be surprised, seeing that you never made an effort to get to know your own son either.”

“I raised you,” Asmodeus says, sounding mildly annoyed. “I think I know you well enough.”

“You raised me?” Magnus parrots mockingly, anger boiling deep in his system. He exhales a deep breath, urging himself to calm down. “You know what, I’m sure you believe that and I’m really not in the state of mind to fight with you right now so let’s just eat and talk about things we don’t fight about like… the food!” he exclaims, just as the waiter swings in with their dishes.

Asmodeus raises an eyebrow and ignores the waiter as he places his plate in front of him, his whole attention settled on Magnus. “What’s wrong?” he asks, taking a sip of his red wine. “You’re particularly irritable today.  It usually takes at least ten more minutes for you to snap. ”

The waiter quickly moves away from their table.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Magnus snarls. “Maybe I’m just tired because I can’t sleep properly seeing as I’m spending far too much energy trying to get invested in a relationship that doesn’t make me happy because I can’t be with the man I… with the one I want to be with, because people think they have a right to talk about my life like I’m a character in a movie and they’re the critics. Or maybe I’m annoyed because my father, who never gave a single flying fuck about my existence,  has suddenly decided to care for some obscure reason and showed up at my workplace, demanded I had lunch with him and then proceeded to pass judgment upon my life as if he had any fucking right. Or  _ maybe _ I’m just really fucking angry because of all those reasons at once, and even angrier at myself because I put myself in this situation for Alec’s sake and it’s clearly not helping either of us.”

By the time he finishes talking, his father’s gaze is a mixture of  exasperation and shock, and a few patrons are glancing their way, although Magnus made sure to keep his voice low enough for his words to be indistinguishable. Just as quickly as it rose, he feels the anger twirling in his stomach subdue leisurely, until he breathes the rest of it out, and there is none left. It isn’t necessarily a good thing, he ponders to himself, because now that the anger is gone, he feels hollow, void of his essence.

“So, that’s what’s wrong,” he says self-deprecatingly, taking a long sip of his wine.

Asmodeus stays silent for a long time. He finishes his meal, barely touching the expensive duck he ordered in favor of the vegetables. The restaurant is animated with the quiet conversations of its customers but Magnus barely hears any of it, drowning in the silence at his own table. He sits, unable to eat, immobile. The air is brittle, and it reminds Magnus too much of the days, years ago, when his father would be home and they would eat in silence, sharing the bare minimum of words about Magnus’ grades and how much money he needed to go through the month when his father would be gone again the next week. But Magnus doesn’t depend on him anymore, and he has long paid him back for his tuition in Harvard and his first struggling years in Los Angeles.

Maybe that’s why they don’t have much to tell each other, he thinks. Some parents don’t really know what to say once they realize their child doesn’t need them anymore, and Asmodeus barely had a clue even when Magnus did.

Magnus is contemplating just getting his phone out to check Twitter while he waits for his ordeal to be over when Asmodeus puts down his cutlery, pats his napkin around his mouth, and levels him with a callous look.

“It seems to me you know exactly what you want, but I didn’t peg you for a coward,” he says, oddly calm, eyes unwavering.

“Really?” Magnus sighs defeatedly, too tired to be offended.

“Whether you’re afraid or not doesn’t suppress the risk,” Asmodeus says. “It’s up to you to decide if it’s worth taking it. You took a risk six years ago coming here because you wanted to follow your dream. You made sacrifices for it, you worked and fought hard for it. I simply wonder where that passion went.”

“Perhaps I followed the wrong dream,” Magnus muses.

“Do you really believe that?”

“No,” Magnus replies without much hesitation. He gave up a lot to be where he is today, and his father is at least right on one thing: he fought hard for it. He knows how lucky he is, to be able to do something he loves and live more than comfortably thanks to it. And yet, there is also a pang of regret in his heart when he thinks of what he left behind. “I just think maybe the price to pay for it was too high.”

“You should do something about that then,” Asmodeus says, firm and definite. “I suppose I could see worse for you than the future mayor of New York.”

Magnus snorts, shaking his head. “I should’ve known that’s what made you change your mind about him.”

Asmodeus shrugs, but there is the hint of a smirk curving at the corner of his mouth. “I still think he’s an idealistic fool, though.”

“And you ruined it,” Magnus says, rolling his eyes. “I’m with George now anyway.”

“Oh, please,” Asmodeus scoffs. “I’ve been in this industry longer than you have, son. I know a publicity stunt when I see one.  Are you even truly dating him? That would seem too cruel of a thing for you to do. You never liked hurting people to worm your way to the top.”

“Anyone who has to harm people to get to the top can only stay there for as long as they don’t meet someone more ruthless than they are,” Magnus says. “I don’t want a career that’s based of putting people down so I could raise to the top.”

“I’ll take that as confirmation that you’re not really dating the Broadway deadbeat,” Asmodeus replies, sounding oddly satisfied with the fact.  “You might think I don’t, but I know you enough to know when your head is somewhere but your heart lies elsewhere.  It seems to me you know exactly where to find your happiness but you’re just too scared to fight for it, because you’re scared you’ll let it go like you did the first time. Call it what you want but I don’t have to look very far to realize what you’re missing. ”

Magnus doesn’t reply, glaring at his father’s not so subtle attempt at criticism, or perhaps glaring just for the sake of it. He never quite knows which one it is, with Asmodeus, and sometimes it’s confusing enough to have him fear whiplash.

“Those stupid tattoos might be a bit of a clue as well,” his father continues, and the smirk has fully spread on his lips now.

“Why do you care?” Magnus scoffs, chewing on his bottom lip. “You don’t even like Alec.”

“I don’t,” Asmodeus says with a shrug. “I just think that if anyone deserves a shot, it might be the kid who scolded me at my own son’s graduation ceremony because I wasn’t smiling enough for his taste and he wanted you to be happy.”

Magnus looks down at the wine in his glass, unable to help the smile that is ghosting at the corner of his lips. He never knew, until now, what Alec told his father that day.

His mind swims in the fire burning inside, as he lets himself think, as he lets himself hurt.

Alec feels like a distant dream, a silhouette of a past Magnus didn’t let himself live. He feels like a promise, sometimes, a dissolving nostalgia for the sake of a better present. He feels like a risk, like what he imagines it would feel like to stand on a wire suspended over nothingness between the safety of comfort, of the loneliness he is used to, and the vast, eerie unknown.

Alec feels like a realm of possibilities, of the prison of a life under public scrutiny and the freedom of a soaring heart.

He feels like a kiss, on a bench in Boston, forever new, devastatingly beautiful, and absolute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to fight with my beta to include Asmodeus in this coz I'm trash and I like it.
> 
> I accept yelling if it's accompanied by a picture of Matt/Alec or Harry/Magnus because I don't like being yelled at so at least I'll have something nice to look at.
> 
> Next time: a ghost story and a tradition.
> 
> See y'all sometime next week.
> 
> All the love,  
> Lu.


	10. The plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A ghost, a tradition, and a DVD box.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't have time to post tomorrow so here you go

**BOSTON, SEPTEMBER 2006**

Campus bars at Harvard are very close to what Alec imagines all campus bars are: a blend of hormones, bad decisions, and beer induced chaos. He would probably enjoy it a lot more if he was drunk himself, but Simon is late, and so Alec is left standing at the bar, nursing his beer as he watches the crowd evolve around him, regimented according to their social status or campus activities. As long as he doesn’t have to hear another sorority or fraternity cheer in the next ten minutes, he supposes he can wait a bit longer for Simon before he gives up and walks home.

Rolling his eyes as two overly buff guys yell in each other’s face some obscure sport chant, he turns back around, leaning on the bar and gesturing for a refill.

“Hey, at least you don’t have to hear that every night,” the barmaid tells him with a smirk.

Alec chuckles, but can only nod in approval. “Can’t say I envy you, Maia.”

“These idiots leave great tips, though,” she says with a shrug. “Probably because they can’t count.”

Alec barks out a laugh, just as a hand lands on his shoulder, turning him around.

“Alec!” Simon all but yells in his face. “Happy birthday, man!”

Alec smiles, feigning reluctance when Simon pulls him into a hug. “You already told me happy birthday this morning,” he reminds him.

“It’s still your birthday so it still counts,” Simon argues reasonably.

Alec chuckles, and looks behind Simon’s shoulder, brows furrowing slightly at the man standing behind  his best friend .  He looks like he doesn’t belong here, but not because he isn’t good enough for Harvard’s scrappy campus bar, but rather because there is an elegance to his mere presence, a grace to his movements that seem awfully out of place next to the frat boys who are chugging down beer after beer after beer and roaring after each one like it’s an exploit. Yet, he is looking at the bottles lined up behind the bar with interest.

“Sorry,” Alec mumbles to the guy  when he realizes he has been staring and that he might have been wanting to order,  pushing to the side so he can have access to the bar.

“Oh!” Simon exclaims. “Alec, this is Magnus,” he says, patting the stranger’s shoulder with a grin. “He’s in my theater club and I invited him to join us. I hope you don’t mind.”

Alec takes another look at Magnus, his breath hitching in his throat when Magnus flashes him a warm smile. His eyes are shining under the artificial neons behind the bar, his cheek apples rosy from the cool night. He’s wearing a simple hoodie with the theater logo on it and a pair of burgundy jeans that are too tight to be possibly comfortable. He looks…

“N-No, I don’t mind,” Alec stammers, licking his lips.

Magnus’ smile gets wider and he leans in to talk to Alec over the music. “It’s lovely to finally meet you, Alec. We’ve only had three club meetings so far and Simon has found a way to mention you every time so I was starting to get curious.”

“As long as he only said nice things,” Alec says a bit awkwardly.

“I don’t think my tongue is loose enough to reveal that much yet,” Magnus says with a wink.

Alec blinks, lips parting. What is he supposed to say to this guy? He doesn’t know the first thing about theater and Magnus is far too good-looking for his brain to compute.  Every time Magnus smiles at him, Alec’s heart does a little jump and every time seems to take more of his eloquence away. He isn’t sure if he should thank Simon for the inestimable gift or curse him to hell for making his night just that more complicated.

“Go find us a table!” Simon exclaims. “First round is on me in the birthday boy’s honor!”

“I already have a drink,” Alec says, holding up his beer as if it proves anything.

“I’ll get you another one because it’s your birthday and if you don’t end up too drunk to walk home, it means I’ll have failed as a roommate  _ and _ as a best friend.”

“You’re not my best friend,” Alec mumbles, “and I’m still not convinced you didn’t murder the guy who was actually supposed to be my roommate to take his place and annoy me to death.”

Simon gives him a pointed look which is quickly ruined by him poking his glasses back up on his nose. “Or maybe he just ran away because of your charming personality and I came in to save you from eternal solitude like a knight in shining armor.”

“My theory is far more plausible than you ever saving anyone from anything,” Alec says. “And that would explain why you were convinced there was a ghost in our dorm.”

Simon turns to Magnus, gazing right at him with half confidence and half mortification. “He’s in Political Science and he wants to go into politics, so he’s basically a liar. Don’t believe a word he says.”

Magnus chuckles, and reaches out to pat Simon’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, I completely understand. We also have a ghost story at the theater, you know.” He ignores the way Simon’s eyes widen further, and turns to Alec with a warm smile that has Alec automatically smile back. ”We should go find that table, Alec. It’s packed.”

He walks away without another word, leaving a gobsmacked Simon behind him.

“I guess I’ll take another beer,” Alec says, before trotting after Magnus, quickly catching up with him. “Is there truly a ghost story?”

“Nope,” Magnus says, a mischievous spark glimmering in his eyes.

Alec chuckles, chewing on his bottom lip. “Do you want to lead him on and make him believe the theater is haunted?”

Magnus’ smile morphs into a full-grown grin that makes heat gather at the tip of Alec’s ears. “Why, Alexander, I would love to.”

He points at an empty table in the corner near the pool table, and his hand lands on Alec’s ribs as he guides them towards it. It’s an innocent touch, barely a brush of his fingers meant to help them navigate through the crowd, but Alec feels it through the material of his sweater, his skin tingling. Were he a braver man, he would lean into the touch, show with actions rather than words the suggestive implication it could hold; but he doesn’t. He simply follows Magnus’ lead and sits in front of him, pushing the leftover drinks from its previous occupiers to the edge of the table.

“Happy birthday, by the way,” Magnus says, leaning forward.

There is an easy way about him that is quite unsettling. He looks people in their eyes, and Alec hasn’t met many people who do so as unwaveringly as Magnus does. It is as if he tries to get a glimpse of their soul through what he can read there, and Alec feels unguarded and somehow equally safe, ready to drop all defences and to trust Magnus wholeheartedly. This is a weird feeling, made weirder by the fact that Alec doesn’t want to fight it.

“Thank you,” he says. “So, our ghost, friendly or not?”

Magnus bites on his bottom lip as he contemplates his scenario, and Alec thinks this is very rude of him. “Bit of both?” he suggests. “They are mostly harmless, as long as people don’t forget their lines. Then they get very irritated because that’s how they died.”

Alec snorts, lifting an eyebrow. “Because they forgot their lines?”

“They had a very difficult director who was prone to anger, Alexander,” Magnus says as if it were obvious. “Too many forgotten lines and boom! They were killed.”

“Of course,” Alec chuckles. “Silly me, how did I not think of that?”

“Don’t worry,” Magnus says lightly. “Improvisation is all about keeping it simple.”

“What are you guys chattering about?” Simon asks, swinging out of the crowd, carrying three beers that he puts in the table between them.

“Magnus was telling me about the theater ghost,” Alec says gravely, watching as Simon’s skin immediately turns paler.

“Oh,” he replies, laughing nervously. “I’m sure it’s just a story, right?”

Alec and Magnus hum in approval, but don’t reply, each taking of sip of their drink, sharing a staged gloomy look.

“Right?” Simon asks again, licking his lips. “Guys… Right?”

.

“I love you guys so much,” Simon blabbers, leaning heavily in Alec’s side, one arm wrapped around his waist and the other around Magnus’ as they guide him through the apartment. “So, so much. If the ghost comes after you, I will  _ so _ protect you.”

“Thank you, Simon,” Magnus says amiably. “That means a lot to us.”

“Let’s get you to bed, bud,” Alec adds, jerking his chin in the vicinity of his bedroom when Magnus sends him an inquisitive look.

“What if the ghost comes for me in my sleep?” Simon slurs, following them obediently nonetheless. “I need to learn my lines. Magnus, you have to rehearse with me.”

“Tomorrow,” Magnus pledges. “When you’ve sobered up.”

Simon grunts as they lay him down on his bed, Alec reaching out to take off his glasses while Magnus takes care of his shoes.

“I had a dream that started a bit like that,” Simon giggles.

Alec freezes, just as Magnus barks out a laugh, gently patting Simon’s calf as he adjusts his legs in a somewhat comfortable position.

“Told you you’d be crawling home on your birthday,” Simon adds with a proud beam, eyes already closing. “You’re so wasted, Alec.”

Rolling his eyes, Alec reaches out to push Simon on his side.

“I’ll go get him a glass of water,” Magnus says, and disappears in the tiny corridor that leads to their tinier kitchen.

“You should so date Magnus,” Simon whispers as soon as he’s out, although he must have a bad idea of what whispering is in his state because Alec can barely hear him and has to lean down.

“I just met him,” Alec mumbles, “and you know I’m not out.”

Simon plants a kiss to his cheek, humming contently as Alec pulls back hastily. “Goodnight, Mom,” he mutters. “I love you.”

“You’re the worst,” Alec tells him, although Simon doesn’t seem to hear him. “I’m disowning you.”

Magnus walks back in the room and puts the glass of water down on the night table, as well as an aspirin tablet he must have gotten from the bathroom.

“It’s okay, Gideon,” Simon mutters, the words half muttered by his pillow. “Magnus will adopt me.”

“Gideon?” Magnus parrots, lifting an inquisitive eyebrow.

“It’s his super secret middle name,” Simon explains dutifully. “I promised not to tell.”

“Simon?” Alec deadpans.

“Hmm?”

“Go the fuck to sleep,” he growls.

Simon makes an indistinct noise of protest, and snores the next second.

Magnus snorts and walks out of the bedroom, Alec on his toes.

“Thank you for helping me bring him home,” Alec says as he walks into the kitchen, pouring two glasses of water and handing one to Magnus. “You didn’t have to.”

“It’s really okay, Alexander,” Magnus tells him not for the first time. “I live close by anyway. And I feel a bit guilty because I think our ghost story drove him to drink more.”

He flashes Alec a mischievous smirk that has him smiling right back.

“Don’t,” he huffs in amusement. “Simon is a light weight and it’s not the first time I have to pretty much carry him back home. Ghost story or not.”

“Good to know,” Magnus replies. “Well, I should go.”

“Oh,” Alec says, and he clears his throat when he hears the disappointment in his own voice, eyes widening slightly. “Yeah, of course. Thanks, again.”

“Thanks for including me in your birthday plans,” Magnus replies. “Even though Simon didn’t leave you much of a choice.”

“It was great, you should come next year too!” Alec blurts out, and immediately wants to slam his head against the wall. He probably would, were he not scared to punch an actual hole into it. The isolation isn’t great.

Magnus titters, chewing on his bottom lip. “Well, see you next year then, Alec,” he says teasingly.

“That’s not what I meant,” Alec explains, cheekings burning with embarrassment. “We shouldn’t wait a year. You can come by tomorrow if you want! Not that you have to come by tomorrow. What I meant is–”

Magnus reaches out to brush two fingers against Alec’s lips, effectively shutting him up. “I understand,” he says softly, his eyes glimmering with a smile. “Maybe I will come by tomorrow. Someone has to help Simon with his lines so he doesn’t get attacked by Bob the theater ghost.”

Alec chuckles, his shoulders slouching a little as he relaxes. “I’m sorry I called our theater ghost Bob,” he says. “That’s the first thing that came to my mind.”

They’re in the hallway now, and Alec reaches out to open the door for Magnus, leaning against it as Magnus steps in the corridor and swirls around to face him.

“It was lovely to meet you, Alec. I had a great time.”

Alec smiles, his hold tightening slightly on the knob of the door, glad Magnus can’t see it. “Likewise, Magnus,” he says.

“I’ll see you next year for your birthday,” Magnus says with a cheeky grin. “We should make it a tradition, only see each other once a year for your birthday.”

Alec throws him a pointed glare that is belied by the smile he can feel curving at the corner of his mouth.

“See you next year, Magnus,” he says nonetheless. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Magnus says, and with that he is gone.

Alec closes the door, locks it and hopes.

It is a strange feeling, but it has him going to bed with an indelible smile on his face.

.

**NEW YORK, SEPTEMBER 2017**

It feels weird, Magnus has to admit, to be back in front of Alec’s door but unable to open it. It’s not that Magnus doesn’t want to –although he has been hovering in front of the door for longer than he cares to admit– but he had an automatic reflex to check his pocket for the Paul Rudd keychain when he arrived, only to deflate when he realized he didn’t have it anymore.

He doesn’t really know how long he’s been standing there, heart pounding against his ribcage, lost in scenarios of how this could go that have started not to make sense anymore. 

He shouldn’t even be here. He shouldn’t have flown through the country just because it is Alec’s birthday and Magnus let nostalgia overtake him again. It’s already late at night, Alec is probably sleeping. He should leave. He should…

He knocks.

And promptly jumps out of his skin when the door opens right away, to Aline and Maia, tucked in their coats.

Maia blinks at him, mouth dropping open. “H-Hey,” she mutters, clearly surprised.

“Hi,” Magnus says somewhat awkwardly. “Is he here?”

It’s a stupid question for two reasons: this is Alec’s apartment, and there is the soft sound of piano coming from inside.  Out of the Lightwood siblings, Alec is the only one who still plays, Jace having been jaded from the instrument by the distressing memories of his biological father’s austere and abusive upbringing. Magnus waits with bated breath as the notes leisurely slow down, filing his ears with a melody he cannot enjoy anymore. He recognizes  _ Wouldn’t it be nice, _ and his heart sinks.

“Is he okay?” he asks, cursing the  daunted edge of his own voice.

“Yeah, he’s just playing the piano,” Aline tells him, not looking anywhere near sober.

There isn’t much alarm in her voice, but Magnus knows that song, knows this is one Alec plays only when he feels sad, and the thought alone is enough to make his stomach lurch.

“Can I–” Magnus tries, stopping to chew on his lip, gesturing at the living room but not moving from his safe spot in the hallway. If he goes in, it will make things real again.  It will make everything that happened in the past few months, and his inability to move on tangible. Stepping inside would be a statement on its own, a confession to those who see past the lies and deceit. To those, like Alec, who know the true content of his heart, and the direction it always guides him toward.

His father’s words echo in his mind, calling him a coward for failing to go after what he truly wants. Now that he is here, he isn’t quite sure what that is anymore, but he knows with absolute certainty that if Alec is feeling sad, what he wants above anything else is to change that. Whether he still holds that power or not is something else, something he’d rather not ponder on, but he can try, and that has to mean something.  If he lets himself hope, it could very well mean  _ everything _ . 

“Go in,” Maia says, grabbing his shoulder firmly. “Talk to him.”

Magnus inhales deeply and nods, his hold tightening on the paper bag he is carrying.

“If you’re here, does that mean Helen is too?” Aline asks, gaze flashing with something shy but eager.

Magnus smiles. “She is,” he says, “and I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to hear from you.”

Aline’s grin is wide and happy, albeit a little inebriated, and she slips her phone out of her pocket, immediately starting to type.

“She might be sleeping right now, though,” Magnus says with a chuckle. “We just flew from Los Angeles and she went straight home to get some sleep.”

“Maybe I can help with that,” Aline says absently, causing both Maia and him to laugh.

“Alright, lover girl,” Maia says, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and plucking the device out of her hand. “Let’s go. I’ll give you your phone back when you’re not in danger of drunk texting your crush.”

Aline pouts  but grunts begrudgingly in agreement , following Maia out of the apartment.

“Bye Magnus,” they say in the same voice. 

Magnus waves them goodbye, and takes a moment to gather his thoughts  and his breath, before stepping inside. He follows the sound of the Beach Boys’ song coming from the living room, slowly, as if he could delay the inevitable outcome of the night. He didn’t think this through. Mostly, he acted on an impulse, because he spontaneously bought Alec a gift, because he landed in New York tonight after having Helen change their tickets to a few days early for reasons he doesn’t want to scrutinize too much.

He isn’t going to admit that despite their broken relationship, Asmodeus made him reconsider his choices and gave him enough to think of that his words and their implication haven’t left in mind for days. He never knows exactly what his father is trying to achieve when he turns up in his life like this, unexpectedly and unapologetically, but the results are often the same: it leaves Magnus angry, cautious, and wistful. Something shifted this time, however, because Magnus has mostly felt himself be something else, something he hasn’t allowed himself to be in far too long: hopeful.

Simon is the first one to see him  as he walks into the living room, the place deserted but for him and Alec sitting with his back to Magnus, his shoulders straight and tense as his fingers dance over the keys, his whole posture screaming of years of intense training and discipline . Simon is leaning against the piano, a beer in his hand, humming the lyrics to the song under his breath, and he freezes when he sees Magnus, his eyes broadening.

“Shit,” he blurts out, prompting Alec to glance up and turn around to see what he is looking at.

His fingers stop moving abruptly,  slamming on a note that breaks the eerie harmony Magnus interrupted and ending the song in the middle of a verse. Alec blinks and Magnus sends them both a smile that, he has no doubt, ends up looking more like a grimace.

“Hi,” Alec says, shock written plainly on his features. His hands still lie over the keys, but his body has gone still, just as Magnus’ has, frozen in the threshold.

Still, his gaze  bears the naked reverence Magnus has grown more and more addicted  and devoted to throughout the years, and it hurts, but it somehow soothes the pain with an immediate remedy. It is a strange power, the one Alec holds over him. Magnus hates and loves it, and would never wish it gone.

Alec’s eyes speak a thousand words, yet more eloquent in silence than the scorch of a passionate speech.

The first time they were together,  _ actually _ together, it took Magnus a while to decipher the extensive range of Alec’s facial expressions. Ten years later, they still manage to steal the words from his mouth.

“This is getting awkward, guys,” Simon says, promptly pulling Magnus out of his daze and back to the reality. The reality where he showed up at Alec’s apartment unannounced, around midnight, because he can’t trust his own brain when he is running on very little sleep and weeks of being bereft from his presence.

Alec blinks away from Magnus, glancing back at his best friend. “Simon,” he grumbles. “Please.”

Simon raises both arms in defeat. “I’m already gone,” he says, walking towards the exit.

He gives Alec a pat on the shoulder and Magnus a quick hug on his way out, and then there is only the two of them, staring at each other.

“Hi,” Magnus says, finally.

Alec stands from the stool slowly. His hand reaches out in an unconscious invitation, but falls back to his side almost immediately, and Magnus decides to take this one for the both of them.

He steps closer, and wets his dry lips, hoping it will also help his dry throat.

“Happy birthday,” he says sheepishly, shaking the bag in his hand as if it was the only excuse for his presence here.

“Thanks,” Alec replies, sounding oddly inquisitive and entirely confused.

“I brought you a gift,” Magnus says, holding out the bag as if he doesn’t quite know how it got here.

Alec takes a step forward, keeping a reasonable distance between them, and grabs it with a small, tentative smile.

“Open it,” Magnus urges.

Alec chuckles, and it sounds nervous and a hint dubious, but it makes Magnus smile nonetheless. Alec walks back to the piano to put the bag on it, sliding the gift out of it. Carefully, he peels it out of the wrapping paper, and promptly lets out a chortle as he sees its contents. This time, it’s a real one, light and ebullient. It eases the tension in Magnus’ shoulders with deconcerting ease.

Alec holds up the DVD box. “Paul Rudd’s best films?” he says, amusement layering his tone. “Really, Magnus?”

Magnus wiggles his eyebrows, rejoicing in the genuine laugh it prompts from Alec. His eyes crinkles at the sides when he laughs like that, bold and carefree.

Valiantly perhaps, selfishly, unquestionably, Magnus wants to be the recipient and the inciter of that sound again, and again, until he questions why he never grew tired of it and realizes the answer is a pretty simple one.

Because he is in love with Alec.

And it’s scary, and it hurts, because it can never be that easy with the lives they lead and the choices they’ve made, but it is what it is and, somehow, there is some beauty to be found there.

Magnus didn’t know, when he fell in love with Alec Lightwood, that he would still be there ten years later, eleven after their first meeting, and perhaps, if the stars ever align in their favor, an eternity before they part ways for good.

“Magnus?”

Alec’s voice is soft, hesitant and when Magnus catches his eyes, he is levelling him with a fearful look, his bottom lip sucked into his mouth as he seems to ponder on his next words.

“What are you doing in New York?”

Magnus smiles, ignoring the pang of agony tearing his chest apart.  _ I love you. _

“I’m shooting a few scenes here for my new movie next week,” he says, clearing his throat. “Flew from LA today. Then I’m taking a small break. I give a master class at Harvard in a couple of weeks and I’ll fly back to LA to finish filming after that.”

“Your schedule is making me dizzy, and we both know the last time I had some free time was probably something like five years ago,” Alec says jokingly. “Well, at least you’ll have time to see your boyfriend, right?”

He keeps his tone light, but Magnus hears the lingering torment as easily as he would surmise an open wound, and although it was one he took with Alec’s best interests in mind, he regrets ever thinking of that idea now. He didn’t know it would hurt him. He didn’t know it would do damages beyond his own belligerent heart.

“I don’t have a boyfriend.”

Alec’s lips part in surprise as he glances away from the DVD box and back at Magnus. His fingers brush over the shiny black cover of the piano before tightening into a fist, seemingly supporting an invisible weight Magnus can only relate to.

“Why?” Alec asks.

“It wasn’t my brightest idea,” Magnus says, in a voice he barely recognizes as his own. “And believe it or not, I think my father somehow made me realize that.”

If Alec is surprised, he doesn’t let it show on his face.

Magnus shifts uncomfortably on his feet. “I just thought...”

“I know what you thought,” Alec cuts in, sighing. “It did help my campaign. People didn’t stop tweeting me about our relationship but it decreased after that magazine cover.”

Magnus takes in a deep breath and takes a step closer, tilting his head to the side, but Alec stubbornly refuses to let him look into his eyes. He knows, surely, that Magnus would be able to read him too easily.

“Are you mad?” Magnus asks.

Alec pinches the bridge of his nose, his jaw flexing as he grits his teeth. “Of course I’m mad, Magnus,” he grunts. “But not at you.”

He knew that, Magnus tells himself. Yet, he revels in the relief flooding through him with those simple words.

“I’m mad because this whole situation makes no fucking sense,” Alec adds, voice quivering. “Because some asshole we probably don’t even remember sold private pictures of us to the press, because it feels like everytime I do something for myself, it seems to backfire to remind me that I shouldn’t. Because this is a part of my life that I wanted to keep for myself, for us. It didn’t belong to anyone else. And I’m mad because it made you leave…  _ again _ .”

His voice breaks a little at the end, but it is out of a rage Magnus can comprehend and yet not understand.

They live very different lives, he and Alec, even though they are both the victims of an excessive exposition of it. But they feel in similar ways, and they share the same memories of glorious, secret days, hiding in a shadow they had shaped together.

“Alexander,” Magnus says, reaching out to brush the back of his fingers against Alec’s cheek, softly.

Alec tilts his head to look at him and gives him an apologetic smile. “Thanks for the gift,” he says, sounding defeated despite his best efforts to put on a brave facade for Magnus, “and for dropping by.”

“You know how I feel about traditions,” Magnus replies, teasing, gently knocking their shoulders together.

Alec scoffs out in amusement, undoubtedly reliving that first night when they met and the results of his eloquence, or lack thereof.

“We’ve been through a lot in the last ten years, haven’t we?”

Magnus hums, smiling a sad thing. It feels like an understatement, but he doesn’t think there are words that could sum it up and if there are, they won’t be done justice by anyone but themselves.

“And here we are again,” Alec breathes out. There is something somber in his voice, something Magnus knows too well, from a time where they ended their relationship without putting enough of a fight to salvage what could be.

Magnus knows he shouldn’t live with regrets. Were he to relive it, he thinks he would do things differently. Sometimes, he feels like he failed them, like he failed Alec, and it twinges and bites at his heart, and it burns with a fire meant to devour his own fears. Yet they remain, and so he leaves, cursing the parts of his heart that were scarred beyond repair, the parts of himself that made him feel disposable and insignificant, the parts of himself Alec, alone, managed to usher away for as long as he was there. Perhaps that was why Asmodeus sought him out, that day, to redeem himself and, in a way, those parts of Magnus that he maimed by his crying silence and dire absences. Perhaps, Magnus needed a reminder that if he vowed anything to himself, to the child that he was and to the man he grew to be, it is that he isn’t his father, and he fought hard and unrelentlessly not to be.

"Sometimes I think we gave up too soon the last time,” he confesses, low and more honest than he has allowed himself to be with Alec in a long time. “I think we could have made it work, but we were too scared to lose each other along the way.  At least I know I was. "

Alec swallows, turning to face Magnus fully. “Do you think we made a mistake, letting it get this far?”

This is now, Magnus thinks. This is it. This is the price he paid for his dreams, the sacrifices they made in the name of what they believed in. They were too young, back then, too naive to fathom what it would be to be apart, to be broken.

To be alone.

"I don't think I could ever regret anything that has to do with you,” Magnus says. He has played many roles in his life, has lived many lives and told many lies, and to yield to the reality of what it has become is scary, but it could be his greatest role, the one that would survive the brutality of his world. “Truth is, I don't like my life very much when you're not a part of it."

Alec’s breath stutters against his lips, and he gives him a minute nod. He looks exhausted, and Magnus wonders how big a part he played in it, and how much is to blame on the others, the ones who pry and feast and thrive on their decline. The green of his eyes is glimmering under the dim lights of the living room, holding Magnus’ own with merciless intent and a hint of the adoration Magnus has always cherished above all.

Alec wets his dry lips, his voice rough and deep when he talks, "My only regret is letting them tear us apart."

Magnus isn’t quite sure whether  _ they _ are the strangers who pass judgment and violate their privacy, or the younger version of themselves who didn’t have enough faith in their love and how stubborn it would be.

He stays silent for a long while. He doesn’t know if they are better now; they haven’t really been, lately. But he knows they can be– more and good and happy. He remembers too well how being loved by Alec made him feel, how it had sealed together the cracks in his heart and made him thrive to be the best version of himself he could possibly be.

It seems ridiculous that they ever got to this point, when they had what they had, but they were more vulnerable to their insecurities than they are now.

And perhaps it is worth granting himself the right to hope, for a little while.

“Have they?” he asks, with all the confidence he can muster,  which is  more than he feels.

It occurs to Magnus that Alec has been slowly, albeit unconsciously, drifting towards him throughout their conversation, and so it shouldn’t come as a surprise when Alec tilts his head down and captures his mouth in a kiss, but somehow it does. Suddenly, everything goes quiet, like the world settling down before an impetuous storm, or that suspended moment in time before an audience explodes into cheers after the pianist finishes a song.

Magnus has vivid memories of Alec kissing him and stealing his breath away, but never of being deprived of all his senses as a consequence. But he can’t think, or see, or hear. He can feel, though, his heart beating faster and faster, his lips tingling under Alec’s, his world falling away.

He kisses back, and his knees don’t quaver. Instead, he stands, taller than a moment before, safer than time had him believe, whole.

It catches fire, ignited by Alec pressing closer, trapping Magnus between the piano and the cage of his arms, but Magnus is a willing prisoner, and he pulls Alec closer, burying a hand in his hair, clutching his shirt in a fist with the other.

And he feels, through Alec’s lips moving with his own, the righteousness of it all.

His fingers slip under Alec’s shirt on their own accord, feeling the warmth of his skin, the curves he knows by heart, the body he adores almost as much as the man himself. He wants to feel it again, wrapped around him, cherishing and treasuring him, making him come alive in the privacy of the world they can build together when their bodies melt. Alec’s breath catches against his lips, pulling him closer, hands searching, find and then exploring some more. They could go back to this, the carnal, deep desire that takes over whenever they let it, but Magnus has other plans for them this time.  _ Better _ plans. Plans that build of the past they had, savour the present they earned, and face, steady and unafraid, the hereafter.

There is a reason why Magnus hasn’t let himself love anyone since Alec. There was no love as radiant, as earth-shattering, as absolute for him to find.  No future that doesn’t encompass it as a whole.

As he draws back, laying his hands on Alec’s chest to hold him back, he thinks this is okay. 

This is something he can live with.

“Alexander,” he whispers, voice trembling.

Alec’s billowing breath is warm against his lips, close enough that Magnus can feel the tingle it leaves in its path. He leans his forehead against Alec’s, reaching out to map the sharp line of his jaw with prudent fingers.

This is it. This is now.

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” Magnus murmurs.

Alec goes still beneath his touch, and he leans back to look at him. It makes it painfully easier for Magnus to see the hurt flashing in the eyes he loves so much.

“I don’t want to be scared of what happens to us,” he explains, softly, “and I don’t want to live with regrets anymore.”

“What do you mean?” Alec asks, barely over a whisper.  His voice is hoarse from their kiss and coerced with reluctant concern. 

There is fear in his gaze, and although Magnus isn’t sure as to what cause lies underneath, he feels it in his bones and seeping through his veins.

“I mean I don’t want to miss you all the time,” Magnus confesses. “I don’t want to be scared of what people will have to say, because they don’t know the first thing about us. I don’t want to wonder how things could have been, what we could have done, if we had done things differently. I want to try, and fight if it comes to it. Because–” he pauses to catch his breath, and reaches out to grab Alec’s hand into his own, smiling, “–because you’re worth it.”

Alec blinks, and his hazel eyes glimmer a little more than they had a second before.

Magnus inhales deeply, and rubs his thumb against Alec’s calloused hand, gentle but fearless.

“I love you, Alexander,” he says, and the mask shatters at his feet. “And I’ve loved you for the past ten years. When the time is right for us, be it in months, or years, or a decade from now, I think it’s safe to say I’ll love you still.”

There are numbers and letters inked on his skin to testify of the indelible mark Alec left in his life. There is a bench, in Boston, that has seen the way Magnus yields for this man. It hasn’t seen him grow into his own person, shaped by their story and all the different, smaller ones he lived without Alec. Perhaps he will have to go back there, soon, and let it go.

A place shouldn’t have that much meaning.

“We just have bad timing,” Magnus says forlornly. “But that doesn’t really scare me. I know my way back to you for when we will get there. If this is something you want too, we’ll get our time, darling. I think we’ve proven how patient we can be, when it comes to each other.”

For now, Alec has a campaign to win. Magnus has a career that consumes most of his time. Someday, though, he has to believe they will find their way back to each other. 

Perhaps in eight years, when Alec is done with his second term and Magnus’ career is starting to slow down, they will meet again on a balcony overseeing an arena cheering for their friend, and perhaps they will do things differently this time. And then it will work out.

“Don’t say anything now,” Magnus says, although Alec hasn’t made an attempt at doing so, tears brimming in his eyes that he refuses to shed. “Think about it, and let me know. You know where to find me.”

His heart rummaging in his chest, fallen into a dark, pitless abyss, Magnus tilts his head up and presses a quick, lingering kiss to Alec’s lips.

And he leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> bye
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> (love y'all)


	11. The bench

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A game, a seat, and time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *whistles wouldn't be nice by the beach boys innocently*

**NEW YORK, MAY 2014**

“Oh my God, how can you still not know the sign for movie?”

Alec chuckles into his beer, watching as Jace helplessly tries to make Isabelle guess the clue. Charades is just not his thing, which is sad when the random draw got him paired with Izzy. The two of them are impossibly competitive and they hate losing, which doesn’t help getting them any closer to victory, because Izzy just gets excessively annoyed and Jace tries too hard.

Alec is more than happy to sit back into the couch, smirking as he watches his siblings ridicule themselves. This is exactly what family nights are for. That, and collecting bits and pieces of memories that will most definitely be used as blackmail or embarrassment material some time in the future.

“Jace, this makes no fucking sense!” Izzy laments as Jace waves his arms around aimlessly.

“Stop yelling at me!” Jace exclaims.

Alec leans to the side toward Clary, his partner of the night. “He’s your fiancé, so you should know where he’s going with this,” he whispers.

“He’s your brother,” she argues. “And does any of us ever know? He’s just the worst at Charades.”

“Thanks guys,” Jace deadpans, frozen in the middle of the living room, arms crossed over his chest. “It’s great to feel supported.”

“Love you,” Clary quips, blowing him a kiss.

Alec’s phone buzzes in his pocket and he plucks it out, frowning at the name on the screen. He hasn’t heard from Magnus much since they last saw each other at Simon’s concert and went back to Alec’s hotel together. He has thought about it more often than he should, has caught himself remembering the prickle along his spine as Magnus’ fingertips skimmed over it, the ghost of his teeth against his earlobe. It’s been almost two months, and Alec can’t get that night out of his mind. He had believed, foolishly, that he was over Magnus, but it didn’t take much for him to fall back down.

_Hey, Alexander. I feel like this may seem weird but I just landed in New York yesterday and I thought maybe we could see each other? Because of our talk last time._

_40° 43’ 52.4'' N_

_73° 59' 58.8'' W_

“It was Bambi!” Jace yells when his time is up, exasperated.

“Then why don’t you try to mime a fucking hunter instead of moving your arms around like an idiot?” Izzy fires back, throwing a pillow at his face.

It gives Alec the perfect excuse to pretend his smile is the product of his siblings’ shenanigans rather than the coordinates Magnus just sent. He quickly googles them to find they lead to an apartment building by Washington Square Park.

 _You know you can just send an address, right?_ he quickly types back, just as Luke stands from his armchair to take his turn, winking collusively at Maryse. Luke is usually a tranquil force, always able to placate Izzy and Jace’s antics with his calming presence. On game night, though, he leaves them to fight each other until one of them is sulking, because he knows it is bound to eliminate them from the competition. There are many things that can be and are said of Alec’s family, but people outside of their circle have no idea how ruthless they can get when competing against each other. It took Clary a while to get used to it, and Alec underestimated her for a while, up until he realized she is just as competitive as they all are but just better at hiding it; because she opts for crafty scheming instead of their obnoxious shouting. It’s why Alec likes having her on his team.

Alec tunes out completely when Luke’s turn starts and his mother begins shouting frantically, trying to guess what he’s miming, because a game of Charades never fails to bring out her scary side.

 _Where would be the fun in that?_ Magnus replies.

 _When are you free?_ Alec sends, chewing on his bottom lip, his fingertips tingling with a foolish sense of excitement as he types. He should know better than to get so distinctly eager, he tells himself, but this is Magnus, and Alec has always had very little self control when it comes to him.

_How about right now?_

Alec’s blood awakens in his veins, burning until he can feel it travelling all the way to his brain, obscuring all other options for the night. It sparks something inside of him, deep into his soul, spurring it to life with an ease he should question but doesn’t really want to.

Alec is a rational person. He weighs the pros and cons before making a decision, evaluates the risks and measures whether the outcome will be worth it. Those are great qualities in his line of work, even though he wishes he could let go of those habits more often in his personal life. When Magnus is involved, however, he finds it isn’t such a hardship to forgo them altogether.

He supposes there isn’t much rationality to be found in matters of the heart.

“Alec!” Isabelle snaps, abruptly bringing him back to the purpose of this night. “It’s your turn.”

He darts a quick look at the scoreboard, finding with mild disappointment that Luke and Maryse are absolutely crushing their competitors with no hope for a comeback, and sends an awkward, sheepish smile at his family.

“How much would you hate me if I had to leave right now?”

Isabelle lifts an eyebrow. “Is this work related?”

Alec shakes his head vigorously, knowing that his safety is very much in danger if he leaves their game night with work as an excuse.

“I forgot I was supposed to meet Simon for drinks tonight,” he blurts out, the lie rolling off his tongue with an ease that probably is another reason why he is an efficient politician. “He’s back in New York for a few days before his tour continues in Europe.”

He hates lying to them, but his reluctance to face their interrogation if he tells them he’s going to Magnus’ place at ten on a Friday is even stronger. He knows they will be supportive. They had all been devastated when he and Magnus broke up three years ago, his mother in particular. Alec suspects she cried more than he did–which is saying a lot. He will tell them they’ve reconnected soon, that they’re friends and nothing more, but for now, he wants to keep it to himself a little longer. There is something oddly exciting about this whole thing, about sneaking to Magnus’ place and evading for a moment to another reality where nothing has to be complicated. It can just be them, sex and the unbreakable bond that time has had no impact on.

“But–” Maryse starts, only to be cut off by her husband.

“Let the boy go,” Luke says, amused. “We’ll kick his ass again next time.”

Alec snorts, and rises to his feet before anyone can protest further. “I resent that. Next time is Pictionary and we all know whoever wins is the one with Clary on their team.”

His statement is met with a wave of approving nods, and he quickly says goodbye to his family, pressing a quick kiss to Izzy’s forehead when she chastises him for leaving her alone with Jace on her team.

“I’ll walk you out,” Luke says when Alec moves toward him and Alec nods, making his way to the front door.

He slips his jacket and shoes back on and checks the time on his phone. It isn’t too late yet.

“For the record,” Luke says, holding the door open for him, “I know you’re lying.”

Alec freezes in the threshold, mind twirling with an attempt at denial that dies on his lips when he catches the knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his stepfather’s lips.

“I hope he’s worth it,” he adds.

Alec is plagued with a vivid memory of seeing Magnus again two months ago, watching him smile and sing along to Simon’s songs, and then of his teasing voice, and the sensual sway of his hips beneath Alec’s fingertips. He remembers the reverence in his voice when he murmured in Alec’s ear, the careful brush of his lips.

“Me too,” he breathes out with a small smile.

He gives Luke a quick hug before slipping out of the door, rushing down the stairs. The weather is clement at this time of the year, the wind a velvety caress on his face as he walks to the corner of the street to find a taxi. The sky is cloudless, a presage to a beautiful night.

 _I’m on my way_ , he texts Magnus quickly. _Be there in 20._

A taxi stops for him a few minutes later and Alec hops in the back, giving the driver the address before he settles back against the seat, typing another text, to Simon this time.

_If anyone asks, I spent the night having drinks with you because you’re in NYC for a few days before your European tour._

_I am in NYC for a few days before my European tour,_ Simon replies a minute later, and Alec can almost hear the near offense in his voice. _Why are we not having drinks right now? But yeah, no problem, asshole._

_What are you doing?_

_Or should I ask… who are you doing? wink wink_

Alec snorts, rolling his eyes at his phone. _I would love to answer this but I actually really don’t want to. Thanks, jerk. Bye._

 _Tell Magnus I said hi,_ comes a minute later.

Alec expels a deep breath, looking by the window at the city passing though. His heart is rummaging in his chest, anticipation and trepidation coursing through his body. This is ludicrous, he knows. He and Magnus should both know better, but at the end of the day, Alec is acutely aware of the three years that have passed since their breakup, and even more so of the lonesome, desolate feeling that his heart has been caged in ever since.

He knows, too, that this is a dangerous game they’re playing.

Were he a braver man, Alec would probably walk away, mourn that love he lost for all the wrong reasons and that man he adored for all the right ones. But all the courage he has left is aimed at a single purpose, and that is to have Magnus back in his life, in whatever way he can.

Someday, he is certain he will have to fix the problems he created himself, and to work on the ones he devised in his own mind. He will have to make a choice, and it will come at a price he doesn’t know just yet, but thinks he will be willing to pay it if it is for Magnus.

For now, he is content with the wide smile Magnus gives him when he opens the door a moment later, with the boldness that drives him to cover that smile with one of his own and swallow Magnus’ surprised chuckle with his lips.

Magnus will ruin him, one day, if he hasn’t already. Alec knows he will never settle for less than this, less than the breathtaking grace of his heart, the devastating effect Magnus has always had on him, the determination compelling his daring fingers to unfasten the buttons of Alec’s shirt with equal patience and fervor.

There is nothing rational about Magnus, nor could there ever be, but rationality is the furthest of Alec’s concerns when their burning bodies melt into one.

And his body calls for Magnus, then and now, and undoubtedly thereafter.

And his heart… Well, Alec isn’t sure Magnus ever gave it back anyway.

.

**BOSTON, SEPTEMBER 2017**

There is a bench in Christopher Columbus park in Boston. It sits facing the water, a silent witness between the quiet of the water and the frenzy of the city. It is a place beyond space and time, a realm of its own.

In appearance, there is nothing special about it. It is a simple bench, with iron legs attached to the ground and a wooden structure that blends into the scenery seamlessly.

To Alec, and he hopes to Magnus, it is much more than that.

If he closes his eyes, he can almost feel Magnus’ presence at his side, hear his soft, disbelieving giggle after Alec had kissed him for the first time. The autumn breeze caresses his face, guiding the clouds toward the horizon, somewhere Alec can’t see nor follow.

He stays on the bench, immobile.

He knows Magnus was giving a master class at Harvard today, and Alec has a plan, to find him tonight and tell him everything he didn’t a couple of weeks ago. He wants to look into his eyes when he tells him how ridiculous the thought of him not loving Magnus back is, how utterly absurd.

For now, he can gather the courage he reserves for Magnus, fueled by memories he doesn’t need to dwell on anymore now that there is a prospect of a better future for them. It doesn’t have to be today, or in a month or eight years, but Alec knows now that no matter what happens, no matter how low the odds, it is Magnus and him, until the very end.

He doesn’t know how he will tell him exactly but he will, tonight. And they will go from there.

“Is this seat taken?”

Alec blinks out of his stupor, gaze jerking up at the source of his reverie, gesturing with an elegant flourish of his hand at the empty spot next to Alec.

It makes sense, of course. This bench means more to them than anyone could ever know, and it is only logical for them to find themselves drifting towards it when they are back in Boston after all these years.

Sometimes, places hold meaning beyond the memories they hold; they are a tether to the present, a testimony of the roads traveled and the ambushes diverted.

“I was hoping it would be,” he replies, and Magnus smiles as he sits down next to him.

“What are you doing in Boston?” Magnus asks, a pleased lilt to his tone.

“I was a bit stunned when you left two weeks ago,” Alec says, and he finds it doesn’t take much courage from him, because it is, after all, quite easy to unveil the truth when he knows it will be welcomed. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you I love you too.”

Magnus’ breath stutters against his lips, but his amber eyes stay riveted on the water, watching it glide peaceful under the autumnal sunlight.

“Or that I never stopped,” Alec continues. He reaches out with careful fingers. Magnus meets him halfway without hesitation, taking his hand into his own, laying them in the space between them on the bench. His first impulse is to be closer to Magnus, to cross the distance between them, but Alec knows the importance of words, knows the power they hold, and he wants Magnus to know the same, to hear how completely and utterly genuine Alec can make them sound. “We were so young when we fell in love, I never imagined I’d be here with you again ten years later. Or perhaps I did, I’m not so sure.”

He pauses, gazes at Magnus, and feels the words trembling against his lips. “I don’t want it to be like this anymore either,” he says. “I don’t want to wonder how different my life would have been if we had tried harder six years ago. I want you, all of you, and I don’t care if I lose votes for it. If I lose them because of my relationship with you, I don’t think I want them in the first place anyway. You’re a part of me, Magnus, you make me better, and there is no scenario where you don’t matter more to me than an election. I don’t want to win if it means I have to be unhappy knowing I’ve let you go again.”

He squeezes his hand. “Even in the years before we saw each other again, there hasn’t been a moment when I didn’t know with everything in me that we would find our way back to each other. There is nothing in this world that matters more to me than you–not my career, not this election, not the hearsays of people who belittle your importance.”

The wind whispers against his skin, and Alec’s free hand roams idly against the sprinkles of their bench, freedom at his fingertips.

“I love you, Magnus, and I don’t think we have bad timing, because there is no time where this isn’t true, not then, not now and not anywhere in the future I see for us.”

Magnus is staring at him now, and Alec can see the corners of his eyes crinkling, and something akin to relief dancing into them amidst the naked adoration that Alec has missed and treasured.

“Is this normal?” he asks, albeit not as grimly as Alec expected it to be. “How we never moved on. How we find ourselves here again, a decade later. Is this what people do for love?”

Alec shrugs. “Probably not,” he says, an odd fire in his voice, mirrored in his gaze. “But I only care if you do.”

Magnus smiles, eyes brimming, and whispers, “I think we should decide for ourselves what we make love to be.”

Alec nods, and decides that for now, they can start with a kiss. It is soft, and sweet, and it tastes of regrets being cast away in the shadows of their past and of a future they have yet to write. As they kiss, the wind blows stronger, wrapping them into their very own place in time, safe and invincible.

When he pulls back, Alec touches Magnus’ bottom lip with the tip of his thumb, and he smiles as Magnus envelops him in his arms, panting breaths layered with relief against his ear.

“I love you,” Magnus murmurs, not because it is a secret, but because such powerful words should belong solely to themselves.

“I love you too,” Alec says, easily, without fear or care or any of the affliction that was always followed by a goodbye.

Magnus does not say goodbye, not again.

He stays on this bench with Alec, and they talk quietly of the future they are going to build together, of reclaiming their past and privacy that were taken away from them. They speak of catching up on the time they have lost, on the years that went by mercilessly, never waiting for them to find their bearing in life without one another. They murmur words of commitment and give them the power of a thousand promises.

They watch the water stir peacefully, and they build, on a bench in Boston, the foundation of a future that doesn’t seem so scary now, of all the things they will do, together, on their own terms.

They speak of what it means to love someone the way they do each other, of the odds that would want them to give up altogether but fail to remember that they have fought harder battles than this one. There is beauty in this battle, however.

Before Magnus, Alec wouldn’t have been able to see it. Now, it makes him realize his college years forged the man that he is today, and that out of the few indelible things he took home from Harvard –an incredible resistance to stress, a tattoo right below his left shoulder blade, an odd penchant for cheap beer, a best friend– the best of them all was the one he let go of in the end. Alec thinks he might discover soon that it is okay for him to admit that the time that rushed, the time that slowed down, the time that made the absence grow harder to bear or too bitter to reason with, did it out of their own volition. Time, he learned, preserves what needs to be and erases the superfluous. Time stops for those who don’t put a price on it. It becomes inconsequential for those who don’t ponder too much on the one that is gone and that they can’t have back. It only has virtue for as long as people watch the clock ticking.

Love ticks in its own rhythm, exists at its own pace.

They learn, fingers intertwined, hearts filled with renewed confidence, lips tingling with the ghost of a kiss, that the future isn’t so scary, so long as they face it together.

The waves swing peacefully, carrying their promises and hopes to a horizon they will reach, hand in hand, away from this bench that carries the weight of a past that no longer holds them prisoner, and time finally stops for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't believe some of y'all really thought I'd make them wait eight years. No faith in me smh. 
> 
> I'm on the Twitter thing and all that.
> 
> See you next week for the epilogue.
> 
> All the love,  
> Lu.


	12. The path

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A parking ticket, a gamble and a beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *this is the end by the doors playing in the background*
> 
>  
> 
> Please use #lecrit if you're live-tweeting so I can keep track of your reactions.

**NEW YORK, NOVEMBER 2017**

There are nights like this one when Alec wonders why he ever decided to pursue a career in politics.

He didn’t sleep the night before, his stomach in knots and his mind unable to shut down long enough for him to get a semblance of respite. He goes for a run on the treadmill in the early hours of morning, reminds people to vote on his social media platforms, and goes to vote himself around ten with his family, answering a few questions by the journalists at the polling place. Then he makes his way to his headquarters, watching the numbers and polls fluctuate throughout the day with his team up until Maia all but boots him out of his office to go get ready for the evening.

Alec obeys reluctantly, but reminds himself to thank Maia for this –and everything else– once he gets to Magnus’ apartment and slips under the shower, the warm water easing some of the tension in his shoulders. He gets dressed in the impeccable suit Izzy helped him choose, pins his tiny rainbow flag to the lapel of his jacket and heaves out a deep sigh before heading downstairs where Underhill is waiting for him.

Some of his biggest donors have rented a place with an open bar and a fancy buffet in Greenwich Village for the big night, just a block away from Magnus’ place and despite his best attempt at negotiation, Underhill refuses to let him walk there and forces him into a car an hour later.

The place is already fairly crowded when they get there, despite the limited invitations they provided. Donors, journalists, and friends are meddling into the room, imposing screens hanging on every wall, broadcasting the election coverage. Alec shakes a few hands, listens politely to some wealthy people patronize him over how incredibly proud his parents must be as if he were still a child, and makes a beeline towards the stage, fleeing backstage before his nerves make him do or say something inappropriate.

Maia is on him in a second. “You have to go read through your speech,” she says quickly, an iPad in her hand showcasing an overly tight schedule for the night. “The first numbers are about to drop and we’ll have a better idea.”

Alec gives her a minute nod and she seems to see right through the rigidness of his whole body because she smiles reassuringly, reaching out to squeeze his arm in comfort. It isn’t the time just yet but no matter the outcome, Alec will have to find a quiet moment with her tonight to thank her for everything, from her friendship that he cherishes deeply to the unwavering force she exudes. This campaign was difficult in many ways, and she is one of the main reasons why he didn’t let himself get submerged by all the obstacles that were thrown this way. She’s the reason he is standing here tonight, nervous but also ready to accept the fallout. He smiles back, and he thinks some of those words he reserves for later must transpire because she winks playfully.

Alec scoffs, amused, and casts a look through the sea of volunteers and campaigners in the room.  “Where’s Magnus?” he asks. He rubs his fingers nervously, trying to spot his favorite face, but deflates when Maia shakes her head.

“He hasn’t arrived yet,” she says. “Helen texted and said he was held up at the studio. He’ll be here soon.”

She barely has time to finish her sentence that the room next door erupts into loud, buoyant cheers and Alec’s eyes widen, gazing back at her for an answer.

It comes in the form of Jace, who walks up to them and grabs Alec’s shoulder in a strong grip. “First numbers arrived,” he says with a warm grin. “You’re at 70%.”

The night is still young, and Alec knows the numbers are bound to fall, but they have a very solid head, so he allows himself a second to savor the moment, and the proud smirk on Maia’s face blended with excitement. They worked relentlessly in the past months, and Maia has been working with him for years, from casual talks when he was just a student going to the bar where she worked to the friendship they built over the years and started dreaming together when he went back to New York after Harvard.

“Okay,” Alec breathes out, but he gives her a conniving smirk. “Okay. Speech now.”

Maia nods, almost proudly, and Alec lets her guide him to the small office they have settled in an adjacent room where a TV is set on the election coverage. He has already dropped at 63.5%, but there is no surprise there and they still have a very strong lead. This room is much smaller than the one that holds the reception or the backstage one he just exited but somehow, Alec finds himself breathing a little easier as soon as he steps in. There are only his closest loved ones here –minus Magnus who likes to make a dramatic entrance– and it is exactly what Alec needs right now. Some time with his family before his life becomes even more frantic than it already is, where he can hug them and bask into the proud grins on their faces, feeling his heart stutter with every single one of them.

“Here,” Aline tells him once he is done hugging everyone. She is glowing, and Alec suspects it has very much to do with her newfound love. He knows, better than anyone perhaps, how being in love looks on a person. There is a sense of peace in her gaze, as if she can finally rest now that her heart has found its way through the tumultuous waters of searching and trying and searching again until time stops for a moment and adapts to the new rhythm of the person that made it so. Alec recognizes that look in her eyes easily; it is the same one he sees in the mirror every morning.

He takes the piece of paper she is handing him out with a smile. It’s a printed version of his speech Maia had him work on the day before so that his team could work through it today. He reads the notes in the margins quickly, highlights the most important parts and memorizes the key points, before giving it back to Aline for the final impression.

They haven’t prepared one in case he loses, because some people are convinced it would jinx it, and because whatever he has to say in that case would be too context-dependent anyway. A quick look at the numbers tell Alec they were probably right to be a little superstitious for this once.

He’s back at 66.2%.

He walks out of the office, watches everyone on his team still working frantically, calling poll station after poll station to find out their scores and putting them on a big white board set up against the opposite wall, and as he watches the numbers of votes accumulate and the gap between he and Dieudonné persist, Alec finally lets himself hope.

“Would it be considered inappropriate if your first decision as the new mayor was to help me get out of the parking ticket I’m definitely gonna get because I parked in a terrible spot so I wouldn’t be late?” a familiar voice teases at his back.

The nerves leave Alec at once, his shoulders slouching in relief. He hadn’t noticed before how tense he actually was, but he isn’t remotely surprised to find what –or rather _who–_ it takes for him to unwind. A voice at the back of his head tells him the reaction is probably slightly disproportionate, but Alec quickly shuts it off, and swirls around to face Magnus.

“I haven’t won yet,” he reminds him.

Magnus smirks, reaching out to smooth non existent dust from Alec’s jacket and realign the rainbow flag pin on his jacket. He gazes at one of the screens, before winking at Alec. “69%, darling,” he says, a suggestive edge to his smile that makes Alec huff out a quiet laugh. “I’m struggling to see how Dieudonné could come back from that. And it’s not like we had any doubt you would win.”

Alec exhales deeply. “If I’m elected, I won’t be going in office until January 1st,” he murmurs. “We should take some time off and disappear to some deserted island somewhere for a week or so.”

Magnus smiles, nods, but doesn’t reply, turning back to the screen, his fingers brushing against Alec’s to bring him the comfort he needs.

The numbers go up and down, and up again, until the last poll results come in and they don’t come down again.

The world around him seems to explode in joy when the TV reporters announce solemnly that Alec’s victory is set in stone. The next thirty minutes are a bit of a blur, a mess like Alec has rarely seen. A bottle of champagne pops open. Magnus is the first one to embrace him when the final results are announced, a broad grin on his features and tears of pride brimming in his eyes but Alec quickly loses him in the chaos. He hugs and smiles and celebrates, thanks every member of his team he has access to, and is almost suffocated by his mother when she hugs him, cheeks wet with tears she swears she didn’t shed.

Then, he is ushered out of the office and into the main reception room, which roars into applause as he walks in. His loved ones and his team follow him to the stage, and Alec lets his fingers roam idly against his thigh as he tightens his hold against the speech in his hand.

 _Speaking in public is like playing the piano,_ he remembers Magnus telling him years ago, as they laid in Magnus’ bedroom and he had confessed how he knew he wanted politics to be his life but how scared he was he couldn’t do it because he was mortified every time he imagined talking in front of the kind of crowds he is facing now. _It takes practice and a hint of talent, precision and just the right amount of passion._

He rehearses it like he does for a song, playing each note in his mind, letting his fingertips dance to the rhythm his words will have. He inhales deeply, lays a foot on the step that will take him on this stage.

Photographers are ready to take his pictures. For this night, the world is watching him.

The world is watching them.

For a second, the thought is enough to have him lost.

The good thing is, he knows where to go to find his way back. It is inked on his body, engraved into his soul, sealed into his heart.

The world of politics is an eerie one. Alec has learned to navigate through it somewhat seamlessly throughout the years. He has seen what it is made of: a lot of talking, too little listening. Politics, not unlike life, is a gamble. There is no guarantee to win, high chances to lose, and a challenge at every corner.

Alec has never been one to back away from one.

He steps off the stage, turns around, and catches Magnus’ gaze, who is standing among Alec’s family and friends, clapping with the rest of the room.

The rumors have started again since Magnus showed up to a public meeting Alec was holding a couple of weeks ago, but they didn’t address them. They have a carefully constructed plan to officially make their relationship public. It is thought out and outlined to the millimeter. It is meant to give them back the ascendancy they lost on their own lives, and they made it so that they can do as much damage control as possible. They were careful to every detail, attentive to the smallest circumstantiality that could ruin it for them.

It is a good plan, and it resembles them in absolutely nothing.

They were never careful, giving away their heart to each other without planning the consequences, throwing away caution.

They can’t control this, Alec knows, no more than they can control what people will say about them. People will talk, no matter what, and the chances are high that they will be wrong. But people don’t know what treasures Magnus hides in the crinkles around his eyes. They don’t know what he looks like in the mornings, bathed in golden lights. They don’t know that he is Alec’s greatest win, a victory in his own right.

They know the face he shows the world, the impersonator, the man with a thousand masks, but they don’t know his barren soul, the grace of his heart. This is for Alec alone to know, for him to cherish, to cultivate and to lose himself to.

It doesn’t really matter if they have a plan. It doesn’t really matter if they don’t.

They have this path they are tracing together, and, truly, it is all Alec needs.

He must read the question in his eyes, because a smirk is playing at the corner of Magnus’ lips, and his eyes speak words of adoration and wonder that are enough to fuel Alec with the energy and fire he needs to go through this night and all the ones to come.

Magnus winks at him, urging him on, a challenge in his eyes.

The world of politics is a continual gamble, and Alec bets on Magnus, always.

He crosses the distance between them and captures his mouth with his own. Magnus chuckles against his lips, but kisses him back, laying his own hand against Alec’s burning cheek.

He doesn’t hear the frenzy of flashes and photographs at his back. He doesn’t hear the quiet gasp passing through the room, Luke and Jace’s loud chortles, Maia and Simon’s snorts or his mother and sister’s barely contained shrieks. He doesn’t hear anything but Magnus’ heartbeats, and the drum of his own, finding a tether in their echo against his fingertips.

It feels oddly like a dream, like living a fantasy he couldn’t have admitted to dreaming of a year ago, not even to himself.

“I love you,” Alec murmurs when he pulls back, Magnus’ face framed between his hands.

Magnus smiles at him through eyes welled up with tears. “I love you too,” he says.

Alec kisses him again, just a gentle touch of their lips, chaste and reverent. It lasts but a second, but when he walks on the stage afterwards, he is invigorated.

And he finds he doesn’t feel lost at all.

Love has this odd way of tracing a path that is quite easy to follow, he thinks.

He doesn’t know whether he and Magnus will still be here in weeks, or months, or eight years from now. But he knows, with absolute certitude, that this is the path that he was meant to walk. The path that took him from a bench in Christopher Columbus park in Boston to where he is standing now, facing a crowd, Magnus’ eternally supportive presence just a beat away from him.

There is no guarantee in politics, no more than there is in love. Someday, Alec will remember a time when he thought he had to sacrifice the latter for the former, and he will laugh at the mere idea. He will remember, then, that there are paths you aren’t meant to walk alone. There are paths that you build hand in hand, step by step, tear by tear, and are worth what you endure to reach the end.

And then, there are the paths that are just a beginning, the dawn of a greater adventure.

Alec inhales deeply, casts one last look at Magnus, and faces the crowd. And he walks it without a second thought.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to all of you who followed this story with me in the past few weeks. It's been a blast and reading all your comments has been an absolute joy.
> 
> A special thank you to my boo [Jackie](https://twitter.com/jwrites_) who not only beta'd this but also made the tweets and the Time cover in this chapter. I love you more than anything, baby boo.
> 
> I'm (mostly) on twitter [@_L_ecrit](https://twitter.com/_L_ecrit) and sometimes on tumblr [@lecrit](http://lecrit.tumblr.com/).
> 
> I'll see you around.
> 
> All the love,  
> Lu.


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